


The Man, the Moth, the Lover

by hopeless_aromantic



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Blindfolds, Blowjobs, Cunnilingus, Dry Humping, Edging, Established Relationship, Explicit and Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Gentle Sex, Hickeys, Making Out, Masturbation, Monsterfucking, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, PWP, Phone Sex, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Relationship, Premature Ejaculation, Riding, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators, Voice Kink, author has done way too much research on moth sex, but in the end decided 'canon says nothing about this so its time to go crazy go stupid', reader is described with cis female anatomy but no gendered terms are used, so uh. who wants to fuck the mothman?, sub indrid, supernatural aphrodisiacs, use of the word 'proboscis', very light bdsm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2020-12-14 02:16:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_aromantic/pseuds/hopeless_aromantic
Summary: Indrid Cold x Reader one shots, the very nsfw version.





	1. How To Fuck Your Mothman

**Author's Note:**

> This is my motherfucking magnum opus.  
Huge shoutout to my [bff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Unoriginal_Sinner/pseuds/The_Unoriginal_Sinner) for beta reading this and helping me make sure its up to snuff! <3  
Enjoy 4k words of moth fucking.

One hand on Indrid’s cheek, the other tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, you kiss him deeply, slipping your tongue into his mouth and feeling the way he melts beneath your lips, his fingers gripping your hips tightly. His glasses are pushed up on top of his head, leaving his eyes unobscured, and you can see the way his brows are drawn together in concentration as you pull away with a teasing bite at his lower lip. The deep blush across his cheeks is captivating; the desire in his eyes mesmerizing as he watches you closely, discerning your next move.

You clear your throat, doing your best to work up the courage to ask what you’ve been wanting to ask, although you know that he sees it coming when his eyes widen and he draws in a sharp breath.

You bite your lip. “If you don’t want to, I won’t ask,” you say carefully, feeling embarrassment and nerves like a buzzing electricity beneath your skin.

But Indrid’s hands on your hips only grow tighter, his voice strained as he quietly says, “please, ask me.”

“Do you... want to... takeofftheglasses?” It doesn’t come out eloquently, and you know you’ve gone red to the tips of your ears, but the sound that Indrid makes in response sends a white hot bolt of desire straight to your core, chasing away the embarrassment with a rush of warmth.

“Are you... sure you want that?” He seems to be having significant difficulty keeping his composure, eyes shut tight and breathing shallow, and that thought alone sends heat coursing through you as you nod your enthusiastic consent.

“Indrid Cold,” you place your hands on either side of his head, where the stem of his glasses meets his temples. “I have never been surer of anything.” And as you lift the magical accessory off of his head, Indrid’s human form disappears, replaced by a large, imposing figure with huge wings, mandibles, and antennae; alien and absolutely beautiful. Your thoughts stall for a moment as you admire his otherworldly form: huge and impossible and all yours.

He flutters those gorgeous wings, stretching them after a period of disuse, and as you adjust your legs, now straddling a larger lap than you had been only moments before, he makes a low, chittering sound that sets your nerves alight. His large, ruby eyes search your face for any sort of discomfort, but there’s none there as you lean in to press your forehead to his with a grin.

His hands, larger now, still grip your waist, and his proboscis-like tongue coils and uncoils as he clicks his mandibles, grazing your neck affectionately.

“This might be a little bit tricky, logistically,” Indrid says, voice slightly deeper, more resonant in this form.

“We’ll figure it out,” you say, planting your hands against his fuzzy thorax and pressing a gentle kiss to where his nose would be if he were in his human disguise. 

He chitters again as you kiss each of his mandibles in turn, letting your fingers trace over the segmented patterns of his thorax, becoming familiar with the feeling of his fluff-covered, chitinous skin—and Indrid’s hands begin to wander too, roaming up and down your sides and back as you pepper his face with kisses like he intends to re-memorize the contours of your body with different fingers.

Then, with a sudden movement, he scoops you up in his arms effortlessly as he stands to his full over-seven-foot height, antennae and wings just barely brushing the ceiling.

“Bed?” You ask, a devilish smirk playing at your lips as you hold tight around his neck.

Indrid’s wings flutter. “I need someplace a little roomier than the couch.” He nips at your neck again, making you giggle. “Don’t want to crush my wings.” 

As he carries you to your bedroom, you reach behind him to trail your fingertips over the edge of one of his forewings, and the hands braced under your legs instantly tighten their hold as a low-pitched trill makes its way out of Indrid’s throat. His wings shudder, and you pull back, worried that your gentle touch was painful, somehow.

Before you can apologize, though, Indrid drops you on the bed, eyes glowing like hot coals as he crawls on after you, bracing himself above you as you lower yourself onto your back, cheeks flushed at the semi-predatorial way he holds himself.

“You didn’t hurt me,” Indrid says, answering your unspoken question, and although he can’t really smile, you hear a lightness in his tone. “But you should know—my wings and antennae are rather... sensitive to touch. And, ah, now that I’ve said that, I can see exactly what you’re going to do with that information.”

You’re already grinning, a thousand ways to coax that trill out of Indrid again playing at the forefront of your mind. You reach out to touch his antenna, but he stops your hand.

“But before that,” he says nervously, “you also should know that I’m... well, I’m much larger in this form, in every sense of the word.”

The blush on your cheeks spreads over your face and down your chest as you let your eyes rove his figure, the implications of his statement obvious. “O-oh,” you swallow thickly. “So you’re saying—”

“That you’ll need a fair bit of preparation, yes,” Indrid finishes for you. “As long as you want to, of course, but you are about to insist that you do.” His antennae twitch, and anticipation sends a jolt of desire straight to your core, coiling tightly in your abdomen and making your breath hitch.

Your exhale turns into a flustered grin. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Indrid chirps a laugh as you lean in to kiss his mouthparts, your hands resuming their exploration of his body. He runs his own hands lovingly from your shoulders to your chest, his light touch making your breath stutter as his fingers paint fiery paths all over your body, stopping and returning to anywhere that makes you shiver. And when he leans down and uncoils his tongue, burying his mouthparts in your chest, you giggle at the tickling sensation, distracted enough that you don’t think about what his hands are doing; that is, until he slips one beneath the waistband of your shorts and you short-circuit with a gasp.

“Is this okay?” Indrid’s voice rumbles across your chest. 

You nod rather frantically. “Very okay. Like, super duper okay. Please touch me?”

He obliges happily, brushing your clit and slipping one finger inside you with ease.

Despite the fact that he can’t grin in this form, he’s managing to convey his self-satisfied delight pretty well—his antennae twitch as he huffs out a short laugh. “You’re so wet for me,” he breathes. “And so quickly, too.”

Cheeks aflame, you try to think of some witty comeback or retort—but your thought processes completely stall the moment Indrid begins to move his fingers against you.

“_Shit_,” you gasp as Indrid begins a slow rhythm with his long, chitinous fingers—index finger in and out, thumb against your clit. It only takes a few strokes before he adds his middle finger, too. His other hand supports his weight above you, and he pauses in his attention to your chest to look at you with those glowing-coal eyes.

“You know,” he says with a tilt of his head, “my mouthparts are an extremely specialized organ.”

The next brush of his thumb makes your hips twitch, and you bite your lip at the wave of pleasure it sends through your system. His eyes are hypnotizing. 

“Specialized?” You ask, breathing heavily.

He uncoils his tongue and licks a path from your stomach to your neck, feather-light in a way that brings heat rushing after the touch. “For siphoning,” he says cheerily. “Or, to use a more apt synonym,” he curls his fingers inside you, relishing in the moan it draws from your lips, “sucking.”

The heat in your abdomen coils tighter as understanding brings out the blush across your face and chest. “Is that s--_ah_\--so?” Another brush of his thumb against you makes your hips stutter, and your voice follows suit. 

He slips a third finger inside you now, stretching you slightly as he watches your face carefully with his red gaze. “As much as I love seeing you like this—” another twitch of your abdominal muscles has your brows drawn together, another little moan escaping your lips, “—and believe me, I really do—” he changes his technique, going from brushing against your clit with every thrust of his fingers to rubbing little circles around it, and you can’t keep from gasping his name as your thighs spasm.

“—But, well, I’d like to taste you.” The devilish grin in his voice is going to be your absolute undoing, if his fingers don’t get you first.

“God, fuck, yes, _Indrid_,” you grab the sheets with both fists as you nod frantically. “Please!”

The loss of sensation as he removes his hand is agonizing, but then Indrid lowers himself, leaving little love nips down your chest and stomach with his mandibles--and when he reaches the waistband of your shorts, you impatiently help him slip them off.

He laughs. “Eager, aren’t we?” He teases, watching you squirm.

You kick your shorts and underwear off the bed, leaving yourself bare for him. “Incredibly,” you breathe.

He looks you over appreciatively, making a noise like a low-pitched squeak. “And who am I to keep you waiting?”

He nips at your thighs as you spread your legs, the anticipation becoming painful as he positions himself at the end of the bed, his face so close to your entrance that you can feel his warm breath.

Massaging your thighs with his fingers, he looks up at you again. “You remember our safe word, yes?”

You nod quickly. “I remember.”

“Good.” And with a flutter of his wings, Indrid uncoils his proboscis, brushing his long tongue against you and causing your brain to completely malfunction.

“_Indrid!_”

His antennae are long and feathery, and as Indrid nips at your thighs again, you reach out to where they droop over your stomach, gently running your fingertips against them. You feel the stuttering vibrations of his mandibles against your thighs as he trills in response, and white hot desire shoots through you, the bucking of your hips entirely insuppressible. Indrid moves his hands to hold you down, his inhuman strength pinning you to the bed as he licks between your folds. The sensation of his proboscis against you is alien and strange, and you laugh as a thought hits you—

“Am I the only human who’s ever had the mothman go down on them?”

He hums in response, and your giggle turns to a choked gasp. “You are indeed.”

“God fucking _damn_, I wish I could brag about this.”

Now Indrid laughs, too. “I believe I’m the one with bragging rights,” he says, and silences your retort with a pointed swirl of his tongue around your clit. 

His hands—nearly claws, you suppose—bite into the flesh of your hips as he holds you still, though your toes curl and your fists clench as waves of pleasure roll through you with every movement of his expert tongue. The heat in your gut turns fierce as you gently stroke his antennae, the trill from deep in his throat sending electric thrills up your spine and drawing a moan from your lips.

“Fuck, _Indrid_,” your eyes shut tight as he pushes his tongue inside you—and keeps pushing,_ how long is that thing_?—and you gasp as he retracts it again with an utterly obscene slurp. You must be blushing from your head to your toes by now, but if it’s at all possible to redden further, you do.

He does it again, pushing his tongue deep inside you, and this time, he _curls_ it, and the sensation is so strange and pleasurable that you cry out, the hesitation and desire to remain quiet abandoning you in one fell swoop.

“You doing alright?” he teases, delight practically dripping from his tone (and _you_ practically dripping from his tongue).

“Don’t stop,” you whine.

Indrid obliges.

He holds you down tightly and continues to ravage you with his tongue, in and out and against and around your clit until his name begins to fall like a litany from your lips, over and over, the only word that makes any sense as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through you.

“Indrid, _Indrid_, I’m so close, babe,” you pant, hands fisted into the sheets as sweat beads across your forehead. “So, _ah!_ So close!”

He hums again, sending you precariously close to the edge, and picks up the pace, mercilessly licking your clit until you’re sure you’re going to explode, incoherently crying out into the dark room; and then, the tip of his tongue braces against you at just the right angle and he _sucks_—

You come with a loud cry, stars bursting behind your eyes as your muscles seize and the wave finally crashes.

Indrid’s tongue slows, and eventually stops, as the aftershocks of your orgasm leave you pleasantly limp. And as you slowly regain your senses, you grin. “Indrid?”

He crawls back over you, nuzzling his mandibles against your neck. “Yes?”

“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?”

“You have, actually; many times,” he chirps.

“Well, I’ll say it again: you’re amazing.” You kiss him slowly, as best as you can when he doesn’t have lips, and as he melts against you, you bring your fingertips to his wings, smiling as he shudders above you.

You do it again, lightly tracing the edges, and when he gives that low trill again, it ignites that heat within your core. So much for a refractory period.

“Babe?” you ask.

He hums questioningly, a low buzz against your neck.

“I wanna touch you.”

You feel the jolt that goes through him at your words, and his antennae stick straight up in the air.

You giggle at the sight.

“A-ah,” Indrid says, sitting up and giving you room to do the same. He chitters as you climb onto his lap, wings fluttering behind him in anticipation. He’s eager, you can feel it in the way he holds himself, and as you let your hands trail down his thorax and abdomen, he groans.

There, near the base of his abdomen, your fingers reach the edge of the slit that sheathes his cock. Already aroused, his hard-on bulges beneath his skin, and another jolt goes through him as you brush your fingers against him experimentally. Voice strained, he asks, “you’re _sure_ you want this?”

You smirk as your touch causes a very physical reaction, his dick finally beginning to push outward from its sheath. “So sure,” you confirm, and slip a finger into his sheath easily, already slick with his arousal.

His hips buck as he inhales sharply, the tip of his dick unsheathing itself at your touch.

“Now who’s wet already?” 

“That’s... ah,” Indrid stutters as you push your finger deeper, running it along the length of his sheathed cock. His antennae twitch, and his wings flutter.

You lean in to kiss him again, your lips against his mouthparts as you hum and slide your finger in and out, more and more of his dick pushing outward as you trace inch by inch of it.

And there are more inches than you thought.

Your stomach turns in somersaults as he continues to unsheath, slick with his internal lubrication, and when the whole of his length is finally freed, you let out a low whistle, blushing fiercely. “You uh, said you were big, but... _damn_.”

“You know I won’t ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” he reminds you. “We can stop—”

“Oh no, I’m _gonna_ fuck you. Just...” you clear your throat. “You’re gonna have to be gentle.”

Indrid chirps a sound of excitement and anticipation, so easy to read despite the fact that he has very little to work with in terms of facial expression.

“I will be very gentle,” he assures you.

“Good,” you grin, wrapping your hand lightly around him.

He stutters as you give him an experimental pump, your eyes taking in his reactions with keen interest.

He’s long—longer than you expected by far, curving up against his stomach—but, although he’s certainly thicker than you’ve taken before, you don’t think he’s likely to split you in two. It’s doable. Probably.

And seeming more doable by the moment, as the languid movements of your hand cause Indrid to make that trilling sound again, inciting the lust deep in your core.

He’s... textured differently, too. Segmented; as whatever biological mechanism that makes him retractable leaves distinct ridges along his length.

You grin wickedly as you speed up just a tad, and Indrid makes a surprised clicking sound, claws digging into your skin pleasantly. You reach up with your other hand, stroking his antenna gently, and when he moans, low and deep in his throat, the excitement coiling in your abdomen tightens, making you bite your lip to hold back your own moan.

“I can’t—that is, if you—_ah_,” Indrid stutters, gasping as you continue stroking him from base to tip. The muscles of his thighs twitch beneath your legs. _He’s not going to last long like this_, you realize with an incredible sense of gratification.

You slow your movements again, and Indrid trills with want, head falling back as he attempts to keep still under your ministrations.

Your voice feels heavy with desire as you ask, “Indrid, babe, can I ride you?”

His hips jerk at that. “_Oh my god,_” he moans. “Can you—are you—”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Then, yes, oh _fuck_,” he gasps.

Skin burning with want, you release him from your grip, raising yourself up on your knees and positioning yourself above him. Your wrap your arms around his neck, unable to resist the urge to roll your hips against him as you line yourself up, making his wings flutter as he tries not to rush you.

“I gotta go slow,” you say, grabbing onto the fluff around his neck for purchase. “Stay still for just a minute, okay?”

Indrid chokes an affirmative, and you begin to lower yourself onto his cock.

With your combined slickness, he slides in fairly easily, though you feel his thickness keenly as a near-painful stretch. Both of you gasp, Indrid’s claws tightening as he strains to remain still.

“_Fuck_,” you curse, the next inch or two that you sink down beginning to burn.

“If it’s too much—” he starts.

You cut him off. “Nope, no, I can do this. Just. give me a second, ‘kay?”

He nods, though it’s obviously taking no small amount of effort to keep himself from thrusting upward.

You take a deep breath, in and out through your mouth, and give him a wobbly grin. And you sink a few more inches with a gasp.

Another deep breath. Another inch. And again. More stretch than you’ve ever felt.

Indrid’s claws on your hips burn, but the haze of desire around your mind barely registers it as anything beyond pleasure. Sweat beads on your forehead, and you finally take the last segment of Indrid’s cock.

You breathe heavily, and Indrid does too.

“Are you alright?” He asks, strained but concerned.

“Yup. Yup, I’m good just.” You huff a laugh. “Just. Let me get used to it.” You’ve never felt so full.

“Would it help if I touched you?” His voice is clouded with obvious want, and it makes you shudder.

“_Yes_,” you breathe.

He pries his fingers from your hips, rubbing the bruised flesh gently as he realizes how tightly he had been holding you. He steadies you with one hand on your back, drawing the other forward to rest on your stomach, thumb positioned against your clit, and begins to rub you slowly, making little circles that almost immediately draw a moan from your lips.

“_Shhhhhit_,” you exhale, and when your hips twitch, Indrid curses too.

“You’re—_ah_—so tight,” he gasps. “Please, can you—”

You nod, eyes shut in concentration, and raise yourself up until just the tip of his cock is sheathed inside you.

Indrid grunts as you move back down, slowly taking as much of him as you can, easier this time than the first.

Again, carefully, you raise and lower yourself. And again, agonizingly slow as the ridges of his cock rub against your walls, pleasure building as pain fades.

Indrid is chittering every time you move, still holding himself as still as he can as you get used to the feeling of him deep inside you.

Your hands are fisted in the mass of fluff around his neck, your thighs shaking with the effort of keeping yourself balanced as you ride him slowly, breath coming in little huffs as each little noise he makes flows straight to your core and sets you alight.

Sensing your difficulty, Indrid moves his hands to hold your legs, the tips of his claws digging into your ass. 

You move a little faster.

Indrid trills again, and you grin. “Doin’ okay?” You pant.

“_Yes_,” he moans. “God, you feel _amazing_.”

You lower yourself harder on the next thrust, and a wave of pleasure rolls over you as his ridges press on something inside you that makes you cry out his name.

With Indrid’s help supporting your weight, you take one hand from around his neck so you can touch yourself as you speed up, index finger clumsily rubbing your clit as you take him again and again, until you’re practically bouncing as Indrid trills and flutters and shakes beneath you.

“I’m—_ah_—I’m close,” he gasps. “If you don’t—”

You’re close too, every thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge as his cock rubs against that spot within you and your fingers chase that building bliss. You know what he’s saying, what he’s asking, and you know what you want.

“_Indrid_,” you groan, “babe, I want you to—you can—_fuck_,” your hips stutter, rhythm becoming frantic as your release builds. “Come for me, Indrid, please!”

His whole body tenses as you give him your permission, and he moans your name as he comes, wings fluttering wildly behind him. You feel his warmth explode inside you, seeping out between you, and as you ride him through it, your own orgasm washes over you and you come with a cry, shakingly thrusting a few more times before you collapse, spent and trembling.

The two of you breathe heavily for a moment in the sudden silence, shuddering through the wonderful aftershocks of orgasm. When you open your eyes and meet his crimson gaze, you grin tiredly, leaning in to kiss him gently.

After a minute or so, you lift yourself off of him gingerly, realizing what a mess the two of you have made of the sheets, and you laugh.

“Fuck,” you say, “that was—”

“—Incredible,” he finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, slumping against him, threading your fingers through his fluff and enjoying the impossible softness against the bare skin of your chest.

You stay like that for a few more minutes as you catch your breath, physical exhaustion weighing heavily on your both.

But you need to do something about the stickiness beginning to dry on your thighs, so you roll off him with a grunt of effort and another embarrassed laugh. “We should—”

“—Clean up, yes,” he agrees. “I’ll change the sheets, if you want to shower.”

You press a kiss to his mandibles, smiling at his affectionate chitter. “You’re the best.”

\---------

Clean now, and in your comfiest pajamas, you flop down onto the bed next to Indrid, back in his human disguise and wearing clean boxers and a tank top. He opens his arms to you and you nestle in against his chest with a happy sigh. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“So, uh,” you clear your throat. “We should do that again sometime, don’t’cha think?”

Indrid grins. “We will--plenty of times in the near future, it seems.”

You splutter a little bit, blushing. “Ah. Cool, yup. Sounds good.”

Indrid winces, staring off into the middle distance like he’s looking into the future. “Also, you’re going to be quite... sore tomorrow.”

You laugh, winding your arm around his waist as he pulls you in tight. “Y’know, I think even I could’ve predicted that one.”


	2. Marked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to hickeytown, population: Indrid. (This chapter is rated T, but it's just a little too spicy for my sfw fic!)

Indrid’s scarf is a staple of his winter wardrobe, a constant from the moment the weather begins to cool down until the reappearance of summer. And while its obvious objective is to keep what little warmth he produces close against his body, you can’t help but think it ought to have another purpose as well. So, the next time you kiss him, grinning giddily against his lips and admiring the blush that rises to his cheeks, you figure, _hell, can’t hurt to ask_.

His eyes widen as he, apparently, sees your coming question, and his already flushed face darkens further when you smile.

You try for an expression of innocence, but it probably falls flat, the mirth in your eyes betraying the deviousness of your thoughts. “Is that a yes, then?”

Indrid gulps, nods.

With a hungry grin, you kiss him again, deeply this time as you wrap your arms around him, loosening the scarf around his neck and letting it fall around his shoulders. 

His hands find their way under your shirt, long fingers brushing your skin, and the lightness of his touch almost makes you forget your objective—almost.

Suppressing the shiver his touch excites, you pull away from his kiss, though you don’t resist the urge to nip at his lower lip as you do so. His eyes fall shut as you lean back in to press another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then littering a few along his jaw and against the shell of his ear. Indrid whimpers quietly as you work, showering him in affection and letting the tension build with intentional slowness. You bite bite his ear gently, and the physical reaction _that_ earns you tells you all you need to know.

Your hands travel downward, bracing against Indrid’s chest as you continue to take your time, placing sweet kisses against his jaw and neck. Every time you make contact with his skin, he gives the slightest flinch of anticipation. 

You laugh, warm breath against his cool skin, and he shudders.

“You really like this idea, don’t you?” You tease.

“Yes,” he breathes, then clears his throat. “How long are you going to... keep toying with me?”

You huff another laugh, rewarding him with a light nip at the side of his neck, and he squeaks. “Have a little patience, Indrid.”

He bites his lip and shuts his eyes tight, baring his neck to you in a clear gesture of submission that makes the fire in your veins surge wildly. After a few more barely-there kisses, you think he’s about to start whining—and although that thought excites you, you think you’ve teased the poor Sylph long enough.

You let your next kiss linger against his throat as your tongue finds his pulse point, relishing for a moment in the hummingbird hammering of his heart, and as you bite down, quick and sure, Indrid sucks in a gasp that sends a bolt of heat straight to your core, and the hands that had been teasing and tickling at your sides suddenly tighten their hold. 

You hum as you pull back to inspect your handiwork, a little red mark in the shape of your teeth. You haven’t broken the skin—you don’t think you could bite him with that much force on purpose—but it does the job nicely. Just enough to hurt a little. Just enough to, hopefully, leave a bruise. Leaning down, you kiss the mark gently. 

Indrid exhales a fluttering sigh and leans back to give you further access to his neck. 

With a devious smile, you choose a new spot, taking his skin lightly between your teeth and sucking hard. 

He groans this time; a deep, desperate sound that causes your stomach to somersault and your cheeks to redden as you hold him captive with lips and teeth.

And you do it again, and again, and again, leaving dark marks on his skin before returning to his mouth, grinning and laughing breathlessly between kisses as every touch leaves Indrid a little less composed.

When you grind your hips down on his lap, carding your fingers through his hair, that composure abandons him entirely—with a sudden movement, Indrid flips you onto your back on the couch, hands planted on either side of you as he kisses you senseless.

You let him take control, eager for the feeling of his tongue between your lips. His mouth is hot and insistent, kisses messy with desire and teeth, returning your affections through panting breaths that lodge under your skin and carry that delicious heat through your veins, a forest fire spreading slowly and mercilessly over and deep beneath your skin.

Finally, he pulls back with a sheepish grin, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I couldn’t help myself.”

The sight of him above you, flushed and breathless, his red eyes glowing softly and his embarrassed grin shot through with something intense and dire, sends electricity burning and buzzing through your nervous system like the remnants of a lightning strike. You bring your fingers to his neck, thumb gently brushing the dark marks you’ve left there, and he shudders.

“You know,” you smirk, “If I’d known you liked getting hickeys so much, I’d have done this a long time ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: headcanons indrid wearing a scarf all the time  
Me @ me: scarves... are good for covering up hickeys.......
> 
> Thank you for reading, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! You can find me on [tumblr](https://hopeless-ar0mantic.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to say hi!! <33


	3. Call Me Maybe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You call Indrid with a proposal. He, of course, knows what you’re going to say... and he is very down. (Chapter-relevant tags: phone sex, voice kink, masturbation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a song for your consideration: [x](https://open.spotify.com/track/53WU2hUKHIIGfLPlW8wgsk?si=t6UUafgDSrmQT8I3E528oQ)
> 
> another shoutout to [my best friend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Unoriginal_Sinner/pseuds/The_Unoriginal_Sinner) for beta reading my mothman smut. you the best!

Living in the National Radio Quiet Zone has its drawbacks, for sure—no cell phone service means no texting, so you might as well be living in the stone age when it comes to communication—but you do have a landline now, so that’s something. Speaking of which, you’re currently eyeing that landline nervously as you chew on your bottom lip, trying to decide whether or not to make the call you’ve been itching to make all day.

It’s a dark, snowy night in Kepler, West Virginia, and your boyfriend, Indrid Cold, is probably cozy in his trailer, surrounded by his fleet of space heaters. You, on the other hand, are feeling awfully cold and lonely, and you desperately wish he was here with you. Unfortunately, the weather makes getting all the way out to the Eastwood Campground and RV Park very difficult, and Indrid doesn’t do well with the cold; so for now, you’re alone.

_Yes_, you decide, you need to call him, if only just to see if he’s interested in...

The shrill ring of the phone startles you, and you nearly fall out of your chair as you jump to pick it up. There’s only one person it would be, and—

“I’ve had an interesting vision,” Indrid’s lilting tone comes over the line as you bring the receiver to your ear, and just the sound of his voice fills your stomach with butterflies. 

“Oh, yeah?” you reply, doing your best to sound nonchalant and oblivious despite the way your heart is pounding—you know exactly what vision he’s talking about. At least... you hope you do.

“Yes, and there’s no need for you to play coy, considering where I see you in, oh, about five minutes.”

You bite down on a grin, coiling the phone cord around your index finger. “Does, uh, does that mean you’re down?”

“I suppose it means I’m up, as it were.”

You snicker. “Indrid Cold, was that a boner joke?”

“Possibly.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and it soothes your nerves.

“So,” back to the task at hand, “do you, uh, want to start? Or should I?”

“Ah, I suppose I should ask what you’re wearing? Although I already know. Or, rather, I know what you will be wearing in a moment.”

As he says this, you realize that you aren’t really dressed for the occasion. Your regular, unsexy t-shirt and fleece pants combo doesn’t really suit the vibe here, so you hop up from the chair to remedy that fact. “Ah, okay, hold on, stay on the line! I’ll be right back!”

“I like the red ones, just so you know,” he replies cheerily.

You laugh as you set the phone down and rush to your bedroom to rifle through your drawers for something more... thematically appropriate. You don’t own a whole lot of lingerie, so it doesn’t take you long to locate the set that Indrid mentioned—a blood red lacy thing that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Stripping quickly and unceremoniously, you replace your undergarments and race back to the phone, where your lover waits. 

“Okay,” you say, settling back into the reclining chair and holding the receiver between your shoulder and ear. “Now I’m ready.”

Indrid hums, and you can picture him: eyes closed and face flushed from the knowledge of what’s about to happen, gripping his phone tightly. “You look so beautiful,” he says, voice dipping lower into something you might call sultry. “You always do, but you know how I love to see you in red.”

A shiver runs through you at his praise, cheeks reddening to a shade that nearly matches your underwear. “Thank you,” you squeak, then clear your throat to regain your composure. “But some of us don’t have magic future vision, so although I’m sure you look sexy as always, I’m gonna need a little description.”

He laughs melodically. God, you love his laugh. “I’m not wearing much, besides my glasses,” he admits.

“Hot,” you grin.

He gives a flustered stutter.

“But the glasses are kinda unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“Oh,” he breathes, “I suppose they are. I’ll—should I take them off?”

You giggle at the note of desperation in his voice—this is the first time you’ve tried this sort of thing, but it already seems to be working for him. Then again, it’s already working for you, too. “Mmhmm, I think so. I wanna see you. I mean, I can’t see you, but I wanna imagine you. Your true form.” It feels a little bit silly to say, when you aren’t in the same room, but even just the thought of him in his Sylvan form, touching himself to the sound of your voice, sends electric thrills up and down your spine.

The trill he gives in response, the click of his mandibles, lets you know that he’s removed his disguise, and you grin. “Good,” you say lowly. “Indrid, I’m going to touch myself now, okay? I want you to, do the same.”

“Right,” his voice shoots up an octave, and he tries again, lower this time. “I mean... right.”

The new tone sends a shudder through you. “I wanna hear what you think about,” you say, letting your fingers trace the curve of your waist, “when you touch yourself.”

“You,” he breathes, without hesitation. “Always you.”

The heat between your thighs fiercens, and when you dip your fingers beneath the lacy hem of your panties, you find yourself already slick with want. Unsurprising.

“What about me?” 

“Oh god, where do I begin?” His laugh is cut through with desire, falling thick and syrupy against your ear, and you feel goosebumps rising along your arms. “I think about... your hands, your lips, the way you touch me, kiss me. The way you sound when I touch you.”

You start slow, rubbing light circles around your clit as you lose yourself in the timbre of his voice. “I think about you too,” you confess. “I think about... those long fingers of yours, and how you bring me to the edge without even trying. The sound of your voice, the noises you make.”

Indrid whines quietly in the back of his throat at your words.

“Exactly,” you grin as the first shiver of pleasure races up your spine; you were clearly in need of something like this. You pick up the pace just a little, spreading your legs further and gripping the phone tighter by your ear. “Ah, babe, I’m so wet for you. Are you already... unsheathed?”

“Yes,” he says. “More or less the second I took off my disguise.”

“You’re that horny for me?” You laugh, but it’s interrupted by a shallow gasp as another jolt of arousal shoots through your system.

“Blame it on the future vision, I’ve been sitting on this for a little while now. I just... didn’t know when it would happen, yet.”

You can imagine him, seven feet tall and winged and splayed out on his couch, red eyes glowing intensely as you talk each other off over the phone. He must have one clawed hand wrapped around the receiver, one gripping his cock as he strokes himself, so quickly hot and bothered; you’re sure he’s already set quite the pace.

You let your own fingers move faster, slipping one inside yourself as he talks. “Mm, speaking of sitting on...”

He laughs, and heat prickles along your skin, another shiver running down your spine as you take another finger, beginning the euphoric push-and-pull that would only be better if they were Indrid’s fingers inside you.

“I wish you were here so badly,” you groan. “You and your hands, and your tongue, and your... _fuck_, Indrid, your cock.”

Indrid gasps. “Y-you can’t just say that!”

“Oh?” You smirk, building a steady rhythm as every sound he makes sends sparks flying through your core. “So you _don’t_ want me to say how good you feel inside me? How much I love to watch you lose composure when you fuck me?”

The strain in his voice is palpable, and you imagine the death grip he must have on the phone, the way his antennae flutter when he’s flustered. “Well, I’m not saying I _don’t_ want you to; just that if you keep it up I won’t—_ah_—I won’t last very long.”

“Slow down, babe, I want this to take a little while,” you smile, even as your own fingers continue rubbing gently against your clit. The muscles of your thighs twitch pleasantly, and you let Indrid hear your quiet moan.

“I want to touch you so bad,” he groans. “I can already... _see_ you coming from the sound of my voice and your own fingers, but I could make you come so much better.”

Your stomach flips at the way his tone dips lower, at the things he’s saying. It’s getting difficult to catch your breath. “Oh yeah? Tell me how you’d do it.”

“I’d—_ah_—tease you, run my claws against you so light that it would make you shiver.” 

Oh, he knows you love his claws. 

“And then I’d taste you, fuck you with my tongue until you can’t remember your own name.” Even so turned on, his voice still has that lilting quality that you adore, that pleasantness that makes it all the more salacious when he says things like this.

“_Indrid_,” you hiss, another wave of pleasure rolling over you.

“I’d make you come again and again, get you nice and ready so you can take my—” he cuts himself off with a groan, and you echo the sound, picking up the speed of your fingers, so fast now as that pressure inside you begins to build.

“God, I’m gonna make such a mess of you next time I see you,” you pant. “Maybe I’ll, _ah_, maybe I’ll tease you, too, hm? Bring you so close and then slow down, edge you til you’re begging, would you like that?”

“_Shit_,” he hisses. “Yes, yes I would like th—_ah_—that!”

Sparks shoot through you at the desperation in his tone, so thoroughly wrecked on just the sound of your voice and whatever imagery his future visions have provided him, and your toes curl.

“You’re—are you getting close?”

You giggle. “You tell me, Mr. Future Sight. How—_mmm_—how close am I?”

He gasps. “Thirty-six seconds, give or take a few.”

“Hah, neither of us are lasting very long, are we?”

You can hear his self-satisfaction as he says, “You must really like the sound of my voice.”

“You know that I do. Ah, _Indrid_, fuck!” Your movements become erratic as your thighs spasm, rubbing yourself faster and harder as his name spills from your lips like a song and you teeter precariously on the edge.

Indrid gives a trilling moan that curls in your gut, and when he calls your name, the tightness within you snaps—you come with a cry, and by the sound of it, you’re pretty sure Indrid does too.

You clutch the phone tight as you breathe heavily, feeling every stutter and twitch of your muscles as you come down from your high. Indrid’s panting breaths over the phone tell you he’s doing the same. 

Finally catching your breath, you let out a little laugh. “Damn,” you say.

“That was hot as hell,” Indrid finishes with you. Then he continues, “Yes, yes it was.” 

You can hear the smile in his words, and dear god, you fall more and more in love with him every day.

“You know,” he says, “the weather isn’t so bad tonight...”

“Indrid, it’s snowing!”

“I can fly pretty fast, if need be.”

“I swear to god, if you risk hypothermia just so you can come fuck me,”

He breaks out into a fit of laughter, and it’s so contagious that you find yourself giggling along with him. 

“Okay,” he relents. “I won’t risk hypothermia to come fuck you. But I will certainly be seeing you tomorrow.”

“You bet your sweet ass.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “I don’t want to hang up yet,” you both say.

“We could... go for round two?” You suggest.

He clicks his mandibles, and you know he’s grinning. “I was starting to think you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *posts two voice kink fics within the span of a couple of weeks* i've revealed too much
> 
> anyway remember when indrid was first introduced and all we knew about him was... landlines and future vision? yeah me too.  
i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! thanks for reading!!  
as always, hmu on [tumblr](https://hopeless-ar0mantic.tumblr.com/) <333


	4. Lack of Foresight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being blindfolded isn’t as fun when you know what’s going to happen anyway, so you and Indrid ask Sylvain for a little favor. Indrid gets a night free of the knowledge of the future, and you get the element of surprise. (Chapter-relevant tags: blindfolds, very light bdsm, sub indrid, vibrators)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's for all the sub!indrid fans out there

With gentle hands, Indrid unties your blindfold and removes it, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does so, and you squint against the sudden return of the reddish light emanating from Indrid’s eyes, smiling sleepily. 

“Hey,” you say.

Indrid laughs, color in his cheeks. “Hey,” he returns. “How do you feel?”

You glance down at yourself, sticky and spent, and laugh. “Really fuckin’ good, Indrid. That was really fuckin’ good.”

He beams, slightly too wide, and your heart gives a familiar flutter.

After you’ve gotten cleaned up—and made some hot chocolate, because sex burns calories and you could both use some sugar—Indrid holds you close; one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gently stroking your cheek. You lean into his touch, exhausted and happy.

“Y’know,” you say with a playful poke to his side, “I’d be super down if you wanted to try the blindfold next time.”

It’s easy to make Indrid blush, and he doesn’t disappoint now.

“I’m not opposed,” he admits, “but... to be honest, it wouldn’t change much. I can still see with my clairvoyance.”

“Mmm, right. There’s that. Still, might be fun, right?”

He grins. “Might be very fun.”

\---

“I was thinking,” you say, dropping yourself onto the couch next to Indrid. “Sylvain gave you your clairvoyance, right?”

“Yes, when I was young.” He wraps an arm around you, but suddenly, he sits up straight, looking at you strangely. “Oh, I see where you’re going with this, and—”

“Look into the future, I’m sure you’ll be able to see if she can do it!”

“I can only see _possible_ futures,” Indrid reminds you. “And there is absolutely no possibility that I will ask my _Goddess_ to—“ he stops, blinks twice. “...Evidently, you are very convincing.”

You pump your fist in triumph. “Ha! So... it’s possible?”

His face reddens beneath his glasses. “It’s... possible. And, seeing the end result of this, I think we should go catch Aubrey before she leaves to go skiing in an hour.”

You follow as he gets up to grab his coat, a devious grin fixed to your lips. 

\---

Amnesty lodge is bustling when you arrive: it seems that many of the residents and visitors, as well as a group of Hornets, are heading out for a skiing trip. Jake is there, waxing his snowboard beside Keith and Hollis, and he waves as you pass. 

Indrid is making a beeline for the kitchen, so you assume that he’s seen that that’s where Aubrey is, and follow, calling hellos to your friends as you rush past, giggling at your boyfriend’s one-track-mindedness. 

Aubrey is indeed in the kitchen, holding hands with Dani and chatting with Barclay and Joseph, and all four heads turn as the two of you enter.

“Hey, you two!” Barclay grins. “Here to go skiing?”

“Hello,” Indrid says, turning to Aubrey. “Actually, we were hoping to talk with Sylvain, for a moment.”

Joseph turns serious. “Is this about...” he cups his hands around his mouth, as if protecting a secret, even if everyone in the room is privy to the knowledge as well, “...future stuff?” He whispers. 

“In a way,” Indrid admits without really admitting anything.

“Oh,” Aubrey says, sliding her hand out of Dani’s and heading toward the hallway. “Sure thing, just give me a minute of quiet!”

You and Indrid follow her out of the kitchen, leaving your confused friends to shrug and ask about it later.

She takes a few deep breaths and goes very still, and Indrid shuffles from foot to foot. “This was... a bad idea,” he whispers.

You shush him gently, giving Aubrey the silence she needs to channel the Goddess, but you give him a reassuring look, followed by a wink for good measure. He gets the picture, and smiles wobbily. A little embarrassment now, a big payoff later.

Suddenly, Aubrey’s eyes glow a bright orange, and the resonant voice of the Goddess Sylvain echoes from the depths of her being. “My Seer,” she smiles, “and his consort, how lovely it is to see you.” Your cheeks redden at the title she’s given you, but you feel the love that she’s suffused the word with, and know she means no disrespect. “You have a question for me.”

Indrid bows, red-faced and stuttering, and you follow suit. “My Goddess,” he says.

Aubrey—or, Sylvain, you suppose—reaches up to touch Indrid’s cheek fondly. “There’s no need for such formality. You are my friends, as you are Aubrey’s. Please, speak freely with me.”

Indrid shuffles his feet again, and you take the lead. “Sylvain, we were wondering... if it would be possible for you to like, I don’t know, take away Indrid’s future sight? Not for long, just... for one night?”

Sylvain cocks her head and looks to Indrid. “You wish to remove your Sight?”

“J-just for a few hours,” he stutters. 

She breathes a melodious laugh. “Ahhh, I see,” she says. “This is for... leisure activities, correct?”

Indrid goes red to the tips of his ears as she gives him a knowing smile, but he manages to nod an affirmative.

Sylvain steps forward, outstretching her hand, and rests one finger lightly against Indrid’s forehead. There’s a flash of light and a change in pressure that makes your ears pop, and as Indrid stumbles, you rush forward to catch him.

The Goddess smiles, benevolent and somehow teasing at the same time. “Your Sight will be returned to you in the morning. Have fun!” 

And suddenly, Aubrey is back, wiggling her eyebrows at both of you. “Yeah,” she says, “have fun, you two. _Wink_.”

Both your faces redden as she shoots you double finger guns and a mortifyingly knowing grin, and she laughs. “I’ll keep it a secret, ya kinky weirdos! See ya!”

She skips back to the kitchen, laughing maniacally the whole way, and you and Indrid are left alone in the hallway.

“Oh goddess,” Indrid drags his hand down his face. “Aubrey is most certainly going to tell everyone about this.”

“You can see it?” You ask, confused.

“No,” he sighs. “Just a feeling.”

\---

The walk back to your apartment is slower than usual, as Indrid is clumsy without his future sight, his steps unsure. He stumbles, for the third time, as you reach the door, and you can’t help your laughter.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” You ask, leading him inside as he trips slightly over the living room rug.

“Yes,” he assures you, “I’m fine. It’s just... an adjustment. I’m not used to having to look at the ground to avoid... tripping.”

“But like, mentally and emotionally, you’re okay?”

He takes your hands in his, smiling so wide that the corners of his lips nearly reach his glasses. “I feel just fine. A little bit nervous... but also very excited.”

You blush, grinning back. “Oh. Well, in that case, shall we, uh, take this party to the bedroom?”

The color of his cheeks nearly matches his glasses as he nods, and you pull him by the hand to the bed, telling him to stay there while you get what you need.

You rummage through the drawer for a moment until you find your blindfold, a pretty black satin thing that will go easily over Indrid’s glasses. You turn over your shoulder with a smirk. “Should we use the ties? Or will you be good and stay still for me when I ask?”

He splutters a bit, his blush creeping downward over his neck and chest. “I’ll... I can stay still,” he says, voice higher than usual in his embarrassment and arousal.

“Good,” you intone, making your way back to the bed slowly, trying your best to embody a predator, stalking its prey. And by the way Indrid audibly gulps as you approach, you think you must have managed it.

You nudge him backwards, toward the headboard, and hold up the blindfold. “Usual safewords?”

He nods, a little bit frantically, and your eyes crinkle with your smile. Carefully, you reach around his head, securing the blindfold so that it’s tight enough to stay on without making his glasses dig into the bridge of his nose.

“What can you see?” You’re grinning, but you know that Indrid doesn’t know that.

“Nothing,” he breathes. “Just darkness.”

“Good,” you say, noting with relish the way he flinches slightly as you climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. “No peeking, alright?”

Indrid’s lips curve into a small smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

His shirt is the first thing to go, tossed onto the floor, and yours joins it soon after. Indrid lets you unbutton his jeans, and helps you shimmy them off of his legs. Your pants come off next, and then it’s just your underwear between you.

With deliberate slowness, you take your fingers and drag them lightly across his cheek, along his jaw, down his neck. He’s so unused to the lack of knowledge of where you’ll be, he jumps when you make contact with his skin, goosebumps rising along his arms. It makes you giggle, but it also causes a flare of warmth beneath your skin; Indrid’s always been sensitive, but this... you’re going to have fun with this.

When you lean in to kiss his lips, he makes a small noise of surprise, lips parting immediately, begging you for more. Teasing, you pull away, replacing your lips on his cheek when he answers with a whine of disappointment. You kiss along his face to his ear, nipping it gently. “Be patient, Indrid, I don’t often get to surprise you.”

You feel the shudder that runs through his whole body as you whisper, and that familiar warmth begins to pool and coil in your lap. And in his, evidently, as you feel him begin to stiffen beneath you. You whisper again, “I’ll take care of you. Just enjoy the ride.”

He lets out a strained gasp, and you silence him with another kiss. Gently, you let your fingers wander, tracing his collarbones, his shoulders, down his arms and back up again. He shivers beneath your touch, and you watch the way he flexes his hands and balls them into fists in an attempt to do as you’ve asked and not move.

You sigh, letting your fingers follow the line of lean muscle down his chest. “You’re so beautiful,” you tell him. “I just can’t keep my hands off of you, can I?”

He gives a short, breathy laugh, but it quickly turns to a gasp as you brush your thumbs across his nipples. Still, he doesn’t move his arms, though you can feel the strain it takes for him to keep still.

“And you’re so good for me, so... obedient. I don’t even have to tie you up.” Grinning wickedly, you rub teasing circles around his nipples, emboldened by the way it makes him bite his lip and whine. “You know what I think?” You ask.

“What?” he breathes.

“I think—” you tweak his nipples gently and his hips twitch, fully hard now and pressing up against your ass, “—you like being told what to do. Not being in control.” You lean down to kiss his neck, and he flinches and groans. “Am I right?”

He hisses an affirmative, and you return to his lips to kiss him deeply, grinding your hips down onto his lap and muffling his answering groan with your tongue. He kisses you desperately, making up for the fact that he isn’t allowed to touch you with his hands by letting his mouth do the work for them. 

But that won’t do. You have plenty of surprises in store for him, and you don’t want him to lose himself just yet.

So you pull back once again, pressing your hand against his chest when he tries to follow. “Stay still,” you remind him.

Reluctantly, he does.

“Good,” you smirk, practically purring the praise since he can’t see your smile. It has the intended effect: you watch as his blush intensifies and he presses his lips together in an attempt to keep the desperate groan from escaping his throat. He only half manages it.

“How does it feel?” You ask, letting your fingers resume their wandering over his chest and stomach, and he shudders, ticklish. “Not knowing, for the first time in so long? Not knowing what I’ll say? What I’ll do?” You just barely brush against his hard-on, and he whimpers. You smirk again. “Where I’ll touch?”

“It’s—_ah_, it’s so much,” he admits, neediness coloring his voice a lovely tone as his hips seek the friction of your hands. “It’s almost terrifying.”

Immediately concerned, you withdraw. “Do you want to stop? We don’t have to—”

“No,” he interjects. “_Please_, please don’t stop.”

Well, if his words weren’t enough to convince you, the wanton desire in his voice sure is—with an entirely self-satisfied grin, you grant him a little bit of the pressure he seeks, palming his cock through his boxers and watching the way he clenches his jaw around a groan. Your other hand continues its downward path, brushing against his inner thighs, and his hands fist into the sheets.

Teasing and light, you rub him with the heel of your palm, and he begins to squirm, searching for more.

You pull back with a little laugh, giggling again when he whines. “The more you move, the slower I go, Indrid. Do I need to get the ties?”

“N-no,” he grits his teeth. “No, I can—I can stay still.”

You run your nails along his thighs. “Good,” you say darkly, before tugging lightly on his boxers. “Should we get rid of these?”

“Yes, _god_, yes.”

With a swift yank, you pull them off, tossing them somewhere on the floor behind you.

And with him completely bare beneath you, you take a moment to breathe an appreciative sigh, running your hands up his legs, over his hips and stomach. “How’d I get so lucky?” You ask, voice suffused with all the love you feel for him, soft and sure and confident that he’s the one.

The blushing smile that stretches across his face sends your heart fluttering. “I ask myself that question every day,” he says, and in his voice, you hear your sentiments echoed perfectly. That softness is quickly replaced by a startled gasp, though, as you take him in your hand, giving a slow, lazy stroke.

“Hmm, now, how could I possibly show you how much I love you?” You grin, keeping up a languid pace.

His voice is a high whine as he responds, “I, uh—_ah_—think you’re doing a pretty good job of it, really.”

“Oh, I know!” With a sudden idea, you stop altogether, climbing off of Indrid’s lap and jumping off the bed.

Indrid sounds almost panicked as he calls your name, but true to his promise, he doesn’t move.

“Hold on, babe, just getting... something.”

“Something?” He asks, hopeful and trepidatious in equal measure.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, pulling out the drawer where you keep your toys and rummaging around until you find what you’re looking for—and a little bit of lube, of course. Then you hop back onto the bed, laughing at the way Indrid flinches. 

“What is it?” He asks.

You smirk. “It’s a surprise.” And then, “is that okay?”

You can see the way he clenches his jaw in response, and he nods. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you lean over him, drawing him into a kiss, and he eagerly reciprocates, lips hot and insistent against your mouth. And just when you’re sure he’s distracted by the fingers you’re dragging down his chest, you flick the switch on the vibrator and press it against his length.

Indrid jolts, gasping into your mouth, and you know he can feel your answering smile. 

He can’t quite seem to summon any coherent words as you drag the toy slowly along his cock, stuttering syllables and gasps falling from his lips—it’s music to your ears.

You murmur soft praises as you tease him, _so good for me, so lovely, my Indrid_, and he writhes and shakes beneath you.

You watch the way he grabs onto the sheets, steadying himself against the onslaught of sensation, and you bring yourself closer to him, pressing your bodies together as you kiss his face, his neck, his shoulders. With the vibrator between you, and Indrid’s stuttering vocalizations, the pressure within you begins to build quickly, coiling tightly, spring-loaded and almost ready to snap—another moment, and both of you will be goners. With the flick of a switch, you turn off the toy, ignoring Indrid’s whine of disappointment.

“T-tease,” he stutters, and you giggle as you kiss him, although you can’t hide the way you’ve lost your own breath, as well. 

“You think I’d be done with you so quickly?”

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know.”

You give a noncommittal hum as you let your fingers trace patterns on his skin: curlicues and stars and hearts, loving the way he jumps at each new area you choose to give your attention. 

He’s being so good, his hands still at his sides despite the way his body strains toward yours, and when he finally asks, “can I please touch you now?” you can’t find it in you to tell him no.

Faster than seems possible—it’s so easy to forget his impressive strength and speed—Indrid raises himself to a sitting position, hands on your waist, on your back, on your chest, and then he’s kissing you desperately, the soft satin of his blindfold cool where it brushes your skin. Pulled further into his lap by the motion, you can feel his stiff erection against you, and as he loses himself in the kiss, you roll your hips gently. He groans into your mouth, still sensitive from your teasing, and the heat in your core turns fierce. 

Adjusting your stance to widen your legs, you hold onto Indrid’s shoulder with one hand, bringing the other to touch yourself, brushing his cock with your knuckles and earning you another groan.

He takes his hand from the small of your back, starting to say, “let me—” but you catch his hand with a grin.

“Uh-uh,” you chastise, moving his hand back. “You keep me steady. I’m gonna get myself ready to take your cock.”

He actually whimpers at that, a high sound so full of need and desire that you almost say _fuck it_ and give in right then and there. But you’re having just a _little _too much fun being a tease.

You start much more slowly than you’d really like, but the way Indrid holds onto you for dear life makes it worth it as you brush your fingers teasingly against yourself, then slip one easily inside, slick and still desperate for friction.

When you make a soft noise of pleasure, Indrid’s blunt nails dig into your waist, and you see his adam’s apple bob as he gulps, but doesn’t move. Emboldened, you exaggerate the next moan as you take another finger, purposefully brushing against him to watch him fidget and bite his lip.

The fire spreading under your skin fiercens, nigh unbearable, as you stretch yourself gently around a third finger, and the small gasp that escapes your lips makes Indrid’s hips twitch.

“Can I—will you—_please_,” he stutters. 

“Please what?” You ask, voice honeyed and innocent despite the debauchery of the situation.

“Please _fuck me_,” he manages, and that’s all you need.

You adjust yourself quickly, lining up the head of his cock against your entrance, and take him fully in one smooth motion. Indrid’s head falls back as he lets out a guttural moan, and you only need a moment to adjust to the feeling of him inside you before you can move, slowly at first but picking up speed.

His hands are all over you: your chest, your ass, your hips, anywhere and everywhere he can reach as you take him again and again, and he groans against your skin as he leaves clumsy, open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

Giggling and gasping, you know you don’t have long, so you blindly reach for the vibrator as Indrid mumbles your name over and over amidst the broken fragments of sentences and promises, _god_s and_ i love you_s, and you fingers close around its silicone length as his thighs begin to tremble.

“Shhh,” you coo, cradling his cheek as you slam your hips down to meet his and turn the toy back on, starting to tremble yourself as you hold it against your clit. “Just, _hah_, come for me, my love.”

He grunts into your neck and your hips move together in a frenzied, erratic dance, the heat building and building inside of you until you can’t take it anymore; you gasp his name, and the tension snaps with a rush of adrenaline as your orgasm rolls over you like a wave.

With a couple more clumsy thrusts, Indrid comes too, calling your name as he fills you with warmth before finally, tiredly, collapsing beneath you.

For a few moments, you stay like that, poised on his lap as you run shaking fingers through his silver hair, your chests heaving with exhaustion, physically and emotionally spent but sated in the afterglow of it all.

When you’ve recovered enough to move, you pull yourself off of him gently, untying his blindfold and tossing it to the side. You push his glasses up on top of his head and run your thumbs over his cheeks, grinning as he blinks against the dim light of the room, his irises glowing a soft red.

“How are you feeling?” You ask, nuzzling your nose against his.

He laughs lightly, a small puff of breath against your lips. “Never better,” he returns.

You kiss him once more, deeply and unhurried, before flopping over onto your back with a stretch. Facing him, a wide smile on both of your faces, you say, at the same time, “I love you.”

“Hey! I thought your future sight was gone until tomorrow!” You say.

“It is,” Indrid insists, his grin growing impossibly wider. “I just wanted to say I love you.”

“Oh.” You clear your throat, blushing. “Me too.”

“I know.”

His teasing tone sends your heart fluttering all over again, and you sit up, holding out your hand for him to take. “Well then, how bout we keep telling each other how much we love each other while we clean up, huh?”

He takes your hand, letting you pull him out of bed and toward the bathroom, a dopey smile on his face the whole way.

\---

The morning light filtering in through the cracks in the blinds wakes you slowly, and as you blink the sleep from your eyes, you focus on Indrid’s face, and smile.

As you begin to stir, so does he, and he meets your gaze with a wide grin of his own.

“Good morning,” you both mumble, sleepy and loving.

“So... your future sight is back?” You ask, reaching out to tangle your fingers in his terrible bedhead.

“Yes,” Indrid smiles. “Do you want to know what I see?”

“What do you see?”

The grin on his face stretches wider as his eyes narrow deviously, and with one smooth movement, he’s braced himself above you, white hair tickling your forehead. His voice is nothing but a whisper as he says, “I see me paying you back for last night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey whats up my name is sef and i refuse to acknowledge that balls exist  
*dabs* this is the first time ive ever posted,, human smut. what the hell is a penis.  
anyway,, im on VACATION, BABEY, and that means i have SO MUCH TIME TO WRITE!!!!
> 
> ajs;dlfkjas;ldkfjd I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks so much for reading! as always, you can find me on [tumblr](https://hopeless-ar0mantic.tumblr.com/) if u wanna hmu!!


	5. Accidental Voyeurism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Indrid’s future visions show him things he has no right to see; and sometimes, the guilt eats him alive. But you’re a very understanding person, and if you’re being honest... well. You don’t mind if he doesn’t. (chapter-relevant tags: accidental voyeurism, first time, vaginal sex)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's just gonna be a quick one-shot about voyeurism, I told myself. 5k words later here we are.

_There you are: in your bed, the sheets tangled around you; wearing nothing but a tank top that’s been rucked up over your stomach, underwear long since discarded as you touch yourself. Your bottom lip is caught adorably between your teeth as you pant and writhe in the throes of pleasure, keeping from making noise through sheer force of will until your lips part with a gasp, a moan, eyes shut tight; and then a whispered name falls past your lips as you shudder, a muffled cry of “Indrid!”_

With a violent shake of his head, Indrid forcefully dislodges the vision and slams his sketchbook shut on what he knows he’s just drawn, white hot embarrassment creeping up his neck and into his cheeks as his breath heaves in the sudden stillness. He drags a hand down his face in shame. That is _not_ a future that he was supposed to see—not information he should be privy to—and yet his whole body feels as if it was set alight, caught between horrible guilt and burning arousal. You were thinking about him! You said _his name!_ Or... you _will_ say his name. Possibly. No—it probably wasn’t even a likely future! He shakes his head again, guilt taking over his thought processes. Logically, he knows he can’t help the things he sees, it was a purely accidental act of voyeurism that wasn’t his fault, but if you knew... _oh god_.

Part of him thinks that he should tell you right away, that he should apologize for the blatant breach of your privacy; that would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it? But what if this was never going to come true, anyway? And wouldn’t you be more embarrassed knowing that he’s seen you like that? The conundrum lodges like a migraine in his head as he thinks in circles, around and around and no closer to an answer, and he tries desperately to push away all of the visions of you—_of that expression on your face, brought on by thoughts of_ him—that he shouldn’t be looking at.

Well, if these events were rendered impossible... at least they would disappear from his mind’s eye.

As quickly as the thought occurs to him, Indrid grabs the phone and begins to dial the number for Amnesty Lodge, but as it starts to ring, he sees Aubrey’s response to his strange request.

“Sorry Indrid,” she’ll say, “I’m busy! Tonight’s a Lodge Squad sleepover! Me, Dani, Jake, Moira, Mama, and Barclay are doing wine and bad movies!”

He hangs up the phone with a sigh before Barclay can answer.

Who else, then? 

You’re friends with Duck, Minerva, and Juno; but a quick peek into each of their futures shows that they’re occupied tonight as well. 

The few hornets you know will be out doing stunts, Sarah Drake will be working late at the telescope, and really, that just leaves... Indrid.

Right then. It’s up to him to make sure you’re busy tonight, so that you don’t... well. 

He just needs an excuse.

\---

It’s not until your phone rings that you realize you’ve been lost in thought, probably for a while now, the book on your lap entirely forgotten as you stare out the window and daydream, but the shrill sound brings you back to yourself with a jolt. You slip your bookmark in and close the novel, vowing internally to come back to it later, and cross the room to the phone—the first landline you’ve owned since you were young.

“Hello?”

“Ah, hello,” Indrid’s pleasant lilt over the line makes your heart race.

“Indrid!” You smile. “What’s up?”

“I can see that you aren’t busy tonight—” a pause as you snort “—sorry, that came out much... douchier than I intended.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” you laugh, “you’re right, I don’t have any plans.” You twirl the phone cord around your finger, stomach doing 360s as you wait for his explanation, or, hopefully, his invitation to do something together.

“Well, Aubrey has assigned me some ‘_homework_,’” you can practically hear the air quotes he’s putting around the term, “because I am, apparently, woefully lacking when it comes to understanding her memes.”

You snicker, imagining all the ways _that_ conversation could have gone. Not that you haven’t also made the mistake of quoting some current meme in front of Indrid, only for him to finish the phrase for you and then look extremely confused. “Oh my god,” you reply. “What’s the homework?”

“She wants me to watch a movie called ‘_The Bee Movie_,’” he pauses while you groan, “and I can forsee that this is not going to be an entirely pleasant experience, especially if I watch it alone.”

“Ahh, I see. You need emotional support for these trying times,” you do your best to sound sage, and Indrid laughs—it makes your heart leap with pride, and warmth rises in your cheeks.

“Yes. Emotional support,” he confirms, voice light. “Would you like to come over and watch it?”

Your stomach does somersaults, and you nearly have to bite your lip to keep from cheering in excitement. “I can be there in 20 minutes.”

“Great! I’ll see you then.”

\---

Nearing Indrid’s Winnebago, your nerves are palpable. _Come on_, you chastise yourself. _It’s not like this is a date_. You’ve hung out with Indrid many times, just the two of you, and it’s always been perfectly platonic. 

Although... you’ve been trying to summon the courage to confess your feelings for quite a while now—maybe tonight is finally the night.

Probably not, though. 

The familiar blast of heat that greets you as Indrid opens the door—before you have a chance to knock, of course—is comforting against the winter chill, and you smile as you say hello. Standing in the doorway before you, Indrid looks... more frazzled than usual, somehow: his hair, although usually messy, is sticking up at a dozen odd angles, like he’s been running his fingers through it over and over again. It’s endearing, really, and your first thought is that maybe he’s invited you over to get his mind off of something. 

Well. You’re always happy to be a distraction.

He grins when he sees you, that slightly too-wide grin that makes your heart skip a beat in your chest, and you step inside, already shucking your coat in the warmth of the Winnebago—he always turns the space heaters down when you’re visiting, but it’s still warmer than you’d like to keep your own apartment. 

“Whatcha been up to today?” You ask, and Indrid shrugs, motioning toward the mess of crumpled sketchbook papers covering the trailer’s pull-out table, filling up the trash can, and littering the floor. 

“The usual,” he says pleasantly. “Keeping track of the future, trying to avoid disaster.”

“Ah, yes. The usual,” you nod. “See anything interesting?” 

For some reason, he goes very still when you ask this, floundering for a moment before he nervously says, “no, nothing interesting. Everything’s perfectly normal!” And laughs a forced laugh.

You blink, trying to decide how to interpret that, but... it’s not something you have any business pressing, so you drop it. If he’s anxious about something, it’s probably best to help him forget about it for now, right?

“That’s good to hear,” you reply, giving him a sincere smile that seems to ease his nerves. 

He sweeps the mess of papers off of the table before lifting it back into its place in the wall, leaving the couch below it usable and free of debris. 

He only just now seems to recognize what a mess his trailer is at the moment, and he scratches at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry for the, uh, state of things...” 

You wave off his concern. “No worries, you know I don’t mind.”

“Kitchen’s clean, though!” He cheerfully announces. “Can I get you some—“

“Eggnog?” You interrupt, and he smiles again.

“Am I that predictable?”

“Nah, I just know you.” You grin. “Nog me up, Scotty. Wait—have you ever seen—“

“Star Trek, yes, as a matter of fact I have,” he informs you, pulling the carton from the fridge and pouring two mugs full. “I may be... bad at memes, but I am not immune to popular culture.”

“That’s fair.”

He returns from the fridge, holding out a mug full of nog, and you smile as you notice which one it is—one half of a hand-painted set you had seen at a flea market a few months ago and bought for him, since he always seemed to be running out of clean dishware. The matching one is in his other hand. Your heart flutters as you accept it from him, and when your fingers brush against his, a warmth runs through you, distracting you enough that you nearly drop it. Indrid starts as well, but he recovers quickly, steadying your cup at the expense of sloshing a bit of nog out of his.

Heat rises in your cheeks as you grin bashfully, stuttering an apology, and Indrid does the same. Although, you’re probably just imagining the way that his cheeks darken beneath his glasses.

He clears his throat, dispelling the moment of awkwardness, and gestures to the TV. “Well, shall we get this trainwreck on the road?”

_The only trainwreck here is my lovestruck pining_, you think; but outwardly, you smile. “Let’s do it.”

\---

_“According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway, because bees don’t care what humans think is impossible.”_

“Ah,” Indrid says, setting the popcorn bowl between you as he sits down. “That’s what Aubrey said to me the other day. She seemed offended that I didn’t understand the reference.”

“It’s pretty iconic,” you reply, settling in and taking a fistful of popcorn.

Usually, when you watch movies with Indrid, you wind up leaning against one another, sharing the bowl of popcorn balanced on one of your laps. It wasn’t like that at first, of course—Indrid was rather touch-shy when you first became friends—but over the months that you’ve known each other, you feel like you’ve slowly broken down his walls. Tonight, however, Indrid seems to be purposefully maintaining a distance between you on the small couch, the bowl of popcorn set on the cushion between you. 

And as the movie plays on, Jerry Seinfeld’s voice a drone in the back of your mind, you become lost in thought. You’re certainly overthinking things, right? You can’t think of anything you’ve done lately that would make him shy about touching you. Not unless... maybe he’s realized you have feelings for him, and it’s making him upset?

You go to grab a handful of popcorn, and Indrid does the same. Your hands brush each other’s, and suddenly, Indrid pulls back like he’s been shocked.

You look at him strangely, and he flushes under the intensity of your gaze. “Is something wrong?” you ask, your heart already beginning to pound. “You’re really jumpy tonight. Did I... do something?”

“No!” Indrid says quickly, and much more forcefully than he intended to. He blushes a bright red beneath his glasses. “I mean, no,” he repeats softly. “Of course you didn’t do anything.” 

But now your anxiety is getting to you, and you’re convinced that you’ve made him nervous—_he’s definitely figured out that you have a crush on him, and now he doesn’t know how to let you down gently_, your mind unhelpfully supplies. The idea of his rejection makes your stomach sink and your heart twist. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, a matching blush painting your cheeks. “Because if I made you uncomfortable, you can tell me, you know? We’re—we’re friends; I’d rather know if I did something.”

“No, no,” he insists, “I promise you didn’t do anything! Oh, I can see that you won’t believe me.” He runs his fingers through his unkempt silver hair, and your eyes track the movement nervously. He takes a breath, and exhales heavily, as if making a decision. “It was—I mean—_I_ did something. Saw something. That I shouldn’t have.”

Taken aback, you tilt your head in confusion as Indrid covers his face with both hands. Seeing his...embarrassment, you think? immediately overrides your anxiety, and you put your hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “Hey,” you murmur, “hey it’s alright, Indrid; whatever it was, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He uncovers his face and looks at you pitifully. 

“It’s—it’s very bad,” he groans, “and I’m—I’m very sorry, it was an accident, really, but I—I saw... well, you.”

“Me?” You ask, not comprehending.

“In a rather, ah, private moment?” He won’t look at you. “And, uh, you... that is. I saw you... say my name.”

Your face turns scarlet as the implications of his words sink in, and as he apologizes again, he stops and looks at you. “Wait, why are _you_ about to apologize?”

“I—” you stutter, embarrassment bringing tears to your eyes. “I mean, you don’t—I shouldn’t have—you don’t think of me that way, so I’m sorry for—shit, I’m sure you don’t want me to—to think about y-you when...”

“I never said that,” Indrid responds, cheeks dark, hands fiddling with an already crumpled sketch. “But I shouldn’t have—”

“—You said it was an accident, Indrid, and I know you can’t control what you see.” 

Then you process his _other_ statement. “Wait. You never said what.”

He stops, a deer-in-headlights look on his face. “I—I never said... that I don’t... think of you that way?”

Something blooms in your chest then, something lighter than your mortification. “S-so you... don’t mind that I was, uh, thinking about you?” Your voice turns up at the end, embarrassment cut through with a little bit of hope.

Indrid clears his throat. “Well... I would be lying if I said I didn’t have... certain... feelings, for you.”

You exhale a disbelieving laugh—still mostly embarrassment, but starting to give way to a sort of elated fervor. “Did you know?” Your gaze is in your lap. “How...how I feel about you? How I’ve felt?”

“I’ve seen... visions... but. I could never bring myself to hope... It was... just a possibility...”

As you finally meet his eyes, you realize that you’ve gotten closer to him: you’re facing each other on the couch now, with you kneeling beside him, and you can’t stop your gaze from sliding to his lips.

“Well, uh,” you say quietly, your heart pounding in your chest, “if you wanna, y’know...”

“Kiss you?” he finishes, just as softly.

You nod.

Indrid sets aside the popcorn, and slowly, tentatively, both of you lean in, closing the distance between you until your lips just barely meet.

It’s only a moment of contact, a brush of skin against skin, but even the briefest of touches is enough to send electricity tingling through you, running like a current along your nerves and igniting something desperate within you that you’ve kept hidden for so long.

Face flushed, you pull back to find Indrid frozen and wide eyed, glasses slightly askew on his face. You start to say his name, panic setting in as you fear the worst, but the spell breaks suddenly as he surges forward, recapturing your lips with a desperation that matches your own. He kisses you hard, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t show you he means it, and you let him, threading your arms around his neck and angling your face to find a more comfortable position. When you part your lips, giving him permission to deepen the kiss, he takes the opportunity gladly, slipping his tongue into your mouth, exploring the new territory you’ve granted him. His lips are cool and soft and pliant and a little bit chapped—so very _Indrid_ in a way that makes your heart sing. How long have you dreamt of this moment?

Pent up desire turns both of you desperate as you climb onto his lap, and he sighs as you let your fingers twist into his hair. He holds onto you like a lifeline, kissing you again and again and again until you’re both out of breath, lips and tongues and no small amount of clacking teeth. His glasses bump up against your nose, and he impatiently pushes them up into his hair, leaving his eyes unobscured. You’ve never seen his irises glow with such intensity: a deep and burning red that bathes the two of you in soft light, casting strange shadows all around you, faint silhouettes in Indrid’s dim trailer. The way he’s looking at you—pupils blown wide, holding your gaze with such clear adoration—it’s enough to make you dizzy; doubly so when he leans in again, his kisses becoming less and less composed as they become deeper and deeper. His tongue slides against yours, warm and insistent, and then he’s pulling away to kiss your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, and your hands are on his shoulders, tracing his collarbones, slipping beneath the straps of his tank top, urging him on.

When he presses his lips and tongue against your pulse point, teeth scraping so lightly against your skin, you can’t help the strangled little gasp that escapes you, and you feel the way he grins into your neck. Fire courses through your veins.

“I-Indrid,” you whisper.

“Yes,” he murmurs between kisses, and you think he may be replying to what you’re about to say—though you can’t be sure. You push him back slightly, so that he’s looking you in the eyes again.

“Indrid, I...”

“—I want you,” he finishes for you, smiling wide. “I want you too. I have wanted you—and dreamed of you, and had vision upon vision of this moment—for so, so long.”

The look in his eyes, the desperate desire of his touch, it almost burns with its intensity; all you can do is let out a small laugh, your eyes blurring with tears at the relief of requited feelings. He reaches up to brush his thumbs across your reddened cheeks, and you have never felt so loved, so _seen_.

Indrid’s blush darkens his skin as he flushes from the tips of his ears downward, crawling over his neck and chest as he asks, “I... can I take you to, ah, my room?” His voice has turned shy again, although he must know what you’ll say to that.

“Please,” you grin, “unless you’d be more comfortable on the couch.”

His smile stretches wide as he stands, still supporting your weight easily with just one arm under your legs. “No, I think the bed is _much_ more comfortable.”

With breathless laughter, he carries you across the trailer, kissing you the whole way until he drops you onto the unmade bed. 

You’re back on his lap as soon as he joins you, and as you straddle his hips, you grin; you can feel him, already stiff beneath you.

“Can I—?” he asks, fingers brushing the skin beneath your shirt hem.

“Yes,” you breathe, pulling it off and over your head in one smooth movement, returning to Indrid’s lips as his hands explore your chest and sides and back.

You part for breath and then return, over and over again until both of you are nearly panting, and his hands are all over you, cataloguing every curve and plane that he can reach, teasing and tickling and stroking. He leans back, pulling off his tank top, and you take a moment to stare, brushing your fingers down from his shoulders to his chest, warmth spreading through you as he shivers at your light touch. His chest hair is fine and silvery-white, almost shimmering in contrast with his brown skin, and he’s so skinny that you can see his ribs. You start to run your fingers across them, entranced by the feeling of finally being able to touch him like you’ve dreamed of doing for months.

“You—you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Indrid stutters.

Your thumbs trace the hollows between his first and second ribs, and you look into his eyes as you whisper, “then tell me.”

“I had visions before I ever met you,” his fingers are rubbing circles on your hips, holding you there, steady against him. “I saw the way I would feel about you, saw the way you would kiss me, touch me... love me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? Indrid, I’ve been crushing on you practically since we met!”

His blush is vivid as he gives an impossibly wide smile. “I was afraid,” he confesses. “Afraid that my visions were... wrong, or at the very least that you weren’t ready yet, or that I was somehow forcing this on you.”

“I thought I was being so obvious,” you laugh, and then he’s leaning you back, easing you into a lying position, his bare chest pressed to yours as he kisses you again.

He kisses your lips, slowly and reverently, before moving down to your jaw, littering several down your neck, one in the hollow between your collarbones, several on each of your breasts (grinning when it makes you suck in a quick breath), and a few down your stomach.

He looks up at you, and his eyes are aflame.

“I would really like to touch you.” His voice is strained with obvious arousal, and you don’t even need to think—you’re nodding emphatically before he can even finish the sentence.

He nearly rips your jeans in his hurried attempt to remove them—if you had known how the night would go, you wouldn’t have worn such a tight pair—and then he’s tracing the hem of your underwear with his fingertips, that teasing grin doing terrible things to your imagination. The heat that’s been pooling in your abdomen goes wild. You need him to touch you;_ you_ need to touch _him_; need to hear him, see him, feel him—

Your thoughts come to a standstill as he nudges aside the fabric, his long fingers slipping between your folds, and he leans in to kiss you again. You let out a soft noise of encouragement against his lips as he finds your clit, and he grins in response.

“You’re so _wet_,” he mumbles, his voice lovestruck and awed.

You giggle breathlessly, bringing your own hand to press against his obvious erection. “And _you’re_ so hard.”

He jolts lightly at your touch, brows knitting together and white eyelashes fluttering. That chasm of desire within you deepens, but before you can get carried away, Indrid moves his fingers against you again, rubbing you just right, and you gasp.

“Oh,” he says, finding a nice, slow rhythm, “if you could see my visions right now—”

“Will you tell them to me?” You want to hear his voice, want him to touch you more, harder, _faster_—

He groans deeply—_you want to get his pants off right now but then you would lose his fingers_—and picks up the pace. “If this is the TV screen analogy,” he says, “then every channel is _you_. Your expressions, your body, the way you move, the—the _sounds_ you make, oh _god_, I can barely take it,” his usual lilt is cut through with desperation, and you gasp again just at the sound of it. “I see us together, in a dozen different ways. I see the look on your face when I do _this_—” 

He changes his technique, fingers now rubbing little circles _right_ where it feels so good; you shut your eyes and your lips part with a moan, and he makes a low sound of approval. Arousal coils tightly in your abdomen, pulsing, throbbing as Indrid’s fingers circle your swollen clit, and he keeps talking: “I see a hundred ways to make you say my name, a hundred ways to make you feel good, to make you _come for me_—”

“_Indrid!_” 

A visible shiver runs through him as you moan his name, and you start talking, even as your toes curl and your hips jerk upward into his hand. “Indrid, _god_, I—I need you, I need you so bad it hurts—_ah_—Indrid, I wanna touch you, I wanna make you feel good too, I want—_oh fuck_—I wanna fuck you and—and—and _shit_, I’m gonna—”

You cut yourself off with a moan, your eyes shut tight and fists clenched. He’s rubbing you fast and hard and every movement of his fingers sends sparks flying through your nervous system and the pressure inside you is building, building, _building_—

When it finally snaps, breaks over you like a wave, Indrid’s name is tumbling out of your mouth over and over again like a prayer. His fingers slow, but they don’t stop, making you twitch and shudder and pant through the aftershocks, little gasps still falling from your lips. 

“Indrid, _please_,” you manage, through gritted teeth. “Let me touch you.”

You can’t help whining when he finally takes his fingers away, but you have to take a second to breathe as he fumbles with his jeans, your thighs still trembling. It doesn’t take him long to get them off, though, awkwardly shimmying them down, off one leg, and then the other; and then he’s on top of you again, that perfect grin impossible to shake off as he kisses you.

Your hands trace his sides, from shoulder to hip, and you hook your thumbs under the hem of his boxers, looking to him for confirmation that you should keep going. When he gives it—desperately nodding, his forehead against yours—you yank them down and over his stiff cock. 

The sound that he makes as you finally grant him some friction, taking him in hand and giving a gentle, teasing stroke, is intoxicating—a rush of air and a high pitched whine that raises goosebumps along your arms and the back of your neck. When you do it again, his hips twitch, jerking to meet your hand, and you grin, pleased at how easily you can coax these reactions from him. As you set a slow pace, you watch his eyelashes flutter, bringing your free hand to brush the stray hair from his sweat-slicked forehead, and he leans his cheek into your palm.

“Is this okay?” You ask, smiling wide.

He whines again, nodding frantically.

“_Will you tell me what you want?_” The question seems to come tumbling out of him as you ask it, like he almost can’t control it, but it only brings that familiar heat rushing through you again; knowing that you’ve got him worked up like this.

“I—_fuck_—I want you to—_faster_,” he pants, and you’re happy to oblige.

A strange, chittering noise comes out of him then; something that builds deep in his throat and forces its way out, impossible to hold back. It makes you grip him tighter, warmth flushing across your skin, desperate to hear it again.

“Indrid,” you breathe, and his voice joins yours, strained with desire. “_I want you to fuck me._”

“_Ah_—” he gasps, “wait—”

You stop immediately, releasing him, and he whines at the loss of your touch. But he’s leaning over now, reaching blindly for something—oh, the nightstand drawer.

“I can’t see any possibility of, well, impregnation?” He says, slightly embarrassed. “But, ah, better safe than sorry.”

You grin, and both of you repeat: “_better safe than sorry._”

He fumbles with the package for a moment and slips the condom on—it’s lubricated, but you don’t think you’ll have any trouble there—you’re not going to make a slip n slide joke but... well. He drags his fingers down your body, chest to stomach to sensitive clit, and your muscles twitch again, still so desperate for his touch.

Indrid presses his lips to yours, tongue between your teeth, swallowing your moan as he slips one finger inside you, then two. You spread your legs further, baring yourself to him completely as he gently pulls them out and pushes them back in, and it feels so good, fuck, _he’s_ so good, your mind teeters on the edge of sanity.

Finally, Indrid presses himself to your entrance, a strangled chitter falling from his lips, and you nod, eyes shut tight and bottom lip between your teeth and hands on Indrid’s back as he gently, slowly, pushes inside you.

Both of you give a long, drawn out curse, and god, he fits inside you like a fucking_ puzzle piece_, he’s perfect, he’s wonderful, he’s _yours_—

Your nails dig into his back as he draws back and then rolls his hips forward, sliding back into you with a little more strength, a little less composure. He chitters again and your guts twist with arousal, deep and burning and raw.

Another slow thrust, and Indrid’s brows are knitted, his face flushed, his lips kiss-swollen and bitten. “You feel—” he starts, breaks off, sucks in a breath. “You feel so _good_, oh god, I never could have—_ah_—that is, I’ve seen visions but nothing compares with—with _you_; so beautiful, so perfect—” 

His broken praise sends thrills up your spine, his voice nearly cracking as he strains to keep from gasping, and you muffle him with your kiss as he picks up the pace, the next thrust less contained than the one before. 

He can’t keep from chittering now, losing control as his thrusts shake the bed beneath you. He whispers your name into your skin and you moan his, volume rising as he fucks you faster, harder, hitting something inside you that makes you see stars and cry out and dig in your nails.

“I’m—_hah_—close,” Indrid gasps. “So close, _fuck!_”

Your fingers clumsily find your clit, and you rub yourself fast and hard and you other hand is on Indrid’s cheek, making him look at you as you say, “_come for me._”

And he does, crying out your name; and you’re shuddering, capsizing, coming for him, too. He manages a few more clumsy thrusts before he all but collapses on top of you, close to you in every possible way.

You breathe heavily, and grin.

In the sudden stillness, you become very aware of the sweat dripping down your face, your chest, your thighs, and the heat of Indrid’s body against yours. He must feel it too, because he pulls out of you slowly, one more chitter finding its way out of his throat, and rolls off of you, disposing of the condom and then falling, boneless, onto the mattress. 

You flip over to face him, and he does the same, leaning in to kiss you gently, a smile on his lips.

The soft glow of his eyes brings a lightness to your chest, a sense of peace and everything being right with the world. You kiss him back, slowly, unhurried, resting your hand on his cheek, thumb brushing across the hollows of his cheekbones.

With a sudden, quick breath, Indrid grins—so wide that it shouldn’t be possible, and you smile too.

“What?” You ask.

He gives an awed little laugh. “I love you,” he says bluntly.

Warmth sweeps across your cheeks and down your neck, seeping into your very core and filling you up with something soft and unnameable.

You don’t even have to think about the words that come next; you’ve never been surer of your feelings in your entire life as you look into Indrid’s eyes and tell him, “I love you, too.”

His grin widens, impossibly, and his lips meet yours once again. It’s a kiss of promise, of joy, of confession—you never want it to end, you’d stay like this forever if you could, but...

“I think we should clean up, don’t you?” Indrid teases.

He’s right. You’re sweaty and sticky and in desperate need of a shower.

“I’d offer to help,” he quips, “but unfortunately, my trailer’s bathroom is... a tight squeeze.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

He’s still smiling as he asks, “would you stay the night?”

“Indrid,” you grin, “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

You both know you’ll have to go home in the morning—if only for a change of clothes... but for tonight, the two of you can dream, can’t you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More human!Indrid smut, but I promise I have some mothier stuff cookin....   
I really hope you enjoyed this chapter (god knows i enjoyed writing it alsdkfjasdk), and a huge, HUGE thank you to everyone who's left comments so far!! You have no idea how happy they make me!!   
As always, you can find me on [tumblr](https://hopeless-ar0mantic.tumblr.com/); and big news! my friend and I made a discord!! If YOU are also horny for mothman (which, why else would you be reading this if you aren't?) join [Indridfuckers, Inc.](https://discord.gg/pYhkfFv)!!


	6. (Insert Euphemism for Jerking Off Here)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid’s visions have taken a turn for the lewd, and he needs to relieve some of this pressure, somehow. A good masturbation session should do the trick, right? (Chapter-relevant tags: pre-relationship, masturbation, lowkey future voyeurism)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's exactly what it sounds like, folks: a thousand words of Indrid masturbating. I have no shame and no regrets.

Scalding water pours down Indrid’s back, nearly scorching his skin, but he would have it hotter if he could. His visions lately have been... intense, to say the least, and it’s been all he can do to pretend nothing’s amiss. Now, after you’ve left his trailer for the night (after a _perfectly platonic_ hangout) and under the warmth of the water, he can’t hold them back.

The possibilities are endless, it seems, but Indrid’s patience is not. If he isn’t able to relieve some of this pressure—this _tension_—soon... well, chances are high that he’ll do something rash.

And he _can’t_ ruin his chance.

So he closes his eyes and it’s _you_ that he sees; lying beneath him, or propped up above him, on his lap or at his mercy, with that _look_ in your eyes... that same burning desire that muddles his thoughts and chokes his words and makes all the blood rush straight down to his—

_Oh_, he’s so hard for the way you’ll blush and smile and _moan_ for him; he can see a thousand ways to make you call his name. Arousal sweeps through him and he grips himself tightly in hand. One slow stroke as he sees you make the first move, the hot water beating down on him and filling his tiny bathroom with steam.

The knowledge of what’s_ possible_, if he can just work up the nerve to confess, is maddening—it burns under his skin like the water _wishes_ it could as he watches each possibility unfold. 

The way you’ll turn to him, blushing and almost in disbelief, as he nervously tells you how he feels... the eagerness of your kiss that tastes of months of pent-up longing and desire, the plush of your lips and the trembling of your hands on his skin...

Indrid burns, and grants himself another light stroke.

You’ll be so receptive to him, and he’ll read every move before it happens—knowing exactly how to kiss you and when to touch you so that your blush turns scarlet and your breath hitches in your throat, not wanting to let out a moan yet. He’ll be able to rid you of that notion, though; just by asking nicely. All you need is to be assured that he feels the same way.

He runs his thumb over the head of his cock, already beading with precome, and grits his teeth against the pleasure that courses through his system.

Your hands will be all over him, tracing his bones beneath his skin, twisting into his hair—tugging lightly when he kisses your neck and _oh_, the tremor in your voice when you’ll tell him you want him, desperately.

Indrid has to brace his free hand against the wall of the shower, fingers against tile to keep himself standing as a wave of arousal tears through him, his own hand familiar but nothing like yours will be. 

When it’s finally your hand around his length he’ll see _stars_.

The pressure builds, and he sees you gasp as he brushes his fingers against you, pleasure clear on your face; and Indrid will feel so much pride. _He_ can do this to you. _He_ can see how to touch you to make you lose control, and he plans on using this information to his utmost ability, to take you apart like you deserve—to show you just how much happiness you bring him, to see this expression on your face in real life, not in his visions.

God, you’ll look so beautiful. You’ll _sound_ so beautiful. You’ll feel like every heaven that Indrid can never, ever deserve but that he’ll be granted—_given!_—for no other reason besides that you love him! 

His pace increases; he can’t slow his hand, for the pleasure he’s chasing is incomparable to what he could soon have, but right now... it’s the only thing he can do. The only way to ease this coiling, burning heat in his gut at the sight of you, nervous but excited, baring yourself for him, giving yourself to him completely, telling him that you’ve wanted to for so long...

He sees his fingers on your skin, feels the phantom pressure of yours on his back as he kisses you deeply. He sees the way you’ll react to the lightest of touch, the way your muscles will jump and you’ll shiver and shudder and writhe; yes, _this_ is the way you like to be touched—he’ll remember this.

And oh, _Sylvain, Goddess of all that is living and holy_, he gasps aloud when he sees you ask—caressing his cheek, clear and undoubtable devotion in your eyes—if he’ll take off his glasses for you, if he wants to; he sees you telling him that you want him in his true form.

What did Indrid ever do to deserve you? It’s a trick question, he knows—the simple answer is that he doesn’t. But that won’t stop you, apparently. He hopes and wishes and prays to his Goddess that these visions will come true, because just the idea of your fingers on his skin—his true skin—and your legs wrapped around his abdomen has him panting as he fucks into his hand in earnest, a goner at the thought of you asking (_pleading, begging, whining_) for his cock. He’ll give you anything you ask for, he’ll give it before you even ask! Because if there’s a possible future where you tell him your desires, he knows them! He _knows_ you!

_Ah_, he can’t feel what his vision self feels but he can see the way your brows draw together and you bite your lip as he slowly and gently pushes inside you—so careful, because you’re small and human and so, so _fragile_—and he can see himself beginning to lose it, babbling praise that makes you squirm and writhe beneath him. He’ll tell you how you feel, so warm and wet and _tight_ and _holy shit_—

Indrid groans, holding himself up against the tile, his cock twitching, aching for release, and he’s close—so, so close—as his visions overlap and blur together: he’s fucking you slowly and gently on your bed, or roughly against the wall, or in the shower or on the couch or _you’re_ fucking _him_ or, or, _or! _In his mind’s eye there’s a chorus of you moaning, grunting, crying out his name and he can hardly keep himself steady, pumping his hand fast and hard, hips jerking, and oh, oh, _oh!!!_

The tension building within him snaps, and Indrid can’t help it—he calls your name as he comes hard, painting the tile and his stomach in white. The scorching water washes it all away as he pants, leaning fully against the wall, supporting his weight as his knees shake and his chest heaves and his vision goes hazy at the edges.

There’s stillness; the only sound his labored breathing and the spray of the water against the tile. And then, the guilt.

_This isn’t fair to you_. Indrid turns off the faucet and drags his hand down his face as the steam swirls around him, water dripping from his hair. He shouldn’t be thinking like this, not when he doesn’t really know how you feel. His visions—they’re possibilities, nothing more. Assuming he knows what you want is dangerous, and looking at these visions without your knowledge... it’s wrong. 

_Shit_. 

As he regains his breath, hot shame replaces arousal, burning beneath his skin. He could solve this. If he would just tell you how he feels... for better or worse, at least he’ll know for sure if you feel the same. 

He forces himself upright once more and slides open the shower curtain, grabbing the threadbare towel and wrapping it around his hips as he sighs.

He needs to do something, and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW is it hot in here or...?  
Well, friends, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter!! I sure enjoyed writing it!!   
As always, hit me up on [tumblr](https://hopeless-ar0mantic.tumblr.com/) or join our discord, [Indridfuckers Inc.](https://discord.gg/eTb72rg) !! See ya soon ;)


	7. A Little Too Excited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re getting pretty hot and heavy, and Indrid gets a little too into it. But there’s no need to be embarrassed—you certainly don’t mind. (Chapter-relevant tags: dry humping, premature ejaculation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a conversation in the discord chat,, I hope I did it justice, y’all ;)

There’s something to be said for a good old fashioned makeout session: the way you feel with Indrid’s hands up your shirt and yours in his hair; his tongue in your mouth and your legs wrapped around his waist; the sparks that fly up and down your spine at his touch, his kiss, the desperate little sounds he makes. You’re awfully worked up, and it’s obvious that he is too, already so hard that you can feel the way he strains against his jeans, fidgeting to adjust the way you’re sitting on his lap.

As he kisses you, trailing his long, spindly fingers down your back, you can’t help grinding your hips down against his. It makes him gasp—a sudden, sharp inhalation against your lips that sends heat coursing through you, a jolt of anticipation so strong it leaves you dizzy, lightheaded in the wake of your building lust.

You nearly laugh, put in awe by this wonderful,  _ beautiful _ man you’re so lucky to call your own, and as you roll your hips again, you watch as his brows knit together and he bites his lip, letting out a strangled hum at the friction you’re providing. You’re right there with him—it’s just a fraction of the feeling you’ll have without these pesky clothes between you, but it’s already enough to drive you crazy with want.

“ _ Indrid _ ,” you groan, and his eyes fly open, red gaze locked on yours as a hopeless little whine escapes his lips.  _ Fuck, that’s hot. _

Arousal shoots through you as you grin, your words having the intended effect. You know how much he likes it when you say his name, and you’re  _ absolutely _ willing to exploit that particular kink of his.

He leans down to kiss your neck, his lips so insistent and warm and  _ needy  _ that it makes you shudder.

“I love you, Indrid,” you sigh, full of warmth and promise, and this time, his hips drive upward against yours.

“I love you, too,” he groans, and then, faster than you can comprehend, he has both of your shirts off, pushing you onto your back on the couch and pressing himself against you, kissing you deeply before you can even let out a sound of surprise. But you’re grinning, fingers tracing his skin, and as you gently trail them over the curve of his lower back, he ruts up against you, snapping his hips forward like he can’t control himself.

“Sorry!” He yelps, breaking the kiss—but you only grin wider and repeat the motion, watching intently as he squeezes his eyes shut and squeaks out a sound that’s distinctly inhuman: something like a low-pitched chirp that sends electricity crackling through you, too turned on to think.

It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Don’t apologize,” you pant. “Keep doing what you’re doing, it’s fuckin’  _ hot. _ ”

He’s flushed all the way down to his chest, already breathing heavily as he keeps kissing you, on the lips, the jaw, the neck, the chest— _ oh _ ; as he runs his tongue over your nipple it’s your turn to grind against him, unable to stop your reflexive movements. He’s so  _ good _ at this.

He grins into your chest when you gasp at his ministrations, kissing your breasts and ribs and stomach before you impatiently pull him back to your lips. He tastes like heaven—his tongue sliding against yours, his heavy breaths warm in your mouth—and his normally cool skin is flushed with warmth at your touch. The way he smiles has your heart fluttering, nerves firing, body aching for him to give you more, more,  _ more _ .

With every kiss, he grinds down into your lap, so wonderfully hard beneath his jeans and drunk on the pleasure of your fingers on his skin. His little grunts get louder, more difficult to hold back, and when you give a purposeful roll of your hips, thrusting against him, he breaks off with a desperate moan, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he shivers.

You grin devilishly, and do it again.

“W-wait,” he manages, muffled into your skin. “If we don’t—god, I’m going to—I’m  _ close! _ ” He can’t even form complete sentences anymore, the way you grind against him has him so worked up he can barely think, and the rush of pride and arousal that washes over you makes the words come out before you can even think about them—

“Indrid, it’s okay,  _ don’t stop _ —” He silences your words with his lips, but your meaning is clear.

He shudders from head to toe, still rutting against you as he kisses you messily, open-mouthed and clumsy and desperate, and he grunts, a deep, primal sound that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. His thigh is positioned right between your legs, and every time you rub yourself on him, it ignites that fire in your core—if he’s close, you’re not that far behind. 

You want to get his clothes off now, want him to really touch you, to fuck you,  _ god _ , he’s so  _ perfect _ , you can’t believe how _ lucky _ you are, that you get to make him—

With a guttural groan through grit teeth, Indrid comes hard, hands tightening their hold on your waist and face buried in your chest. You can feel the wetness of it seeping through his jeans, and instantly, he’s blushing bright red, eyes still shut tight as he shudders.

_ Fuck, that’s  _ hot.

“Oh. Oh, no, I didn’t mean to—” he whispers, but you smile comfortingly, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“Shhh,” you croon. “It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed.” You grind against him again, unable to stop yourself, and he moans, loud and strained and over-sensitive in the wake of what you’ve done to him.

“I— _ ah _ , I’m so sorry, I wanted you to— _ hnn _ ,”

You interrupt him by pressing your lips to his neck and running your hands down his sides, your hips still seeking friction against his thigh. You laugh through panting breaths, mouth on his skin as he shivers through the aftershocks of his orgasm. “I didn’t know you were so into me, Indrid,” you tease.

You’re still grinding against him, and every moment of contact sends him shuddering, hands desperately raking down your sides, eyes screwed shut, chest heaving, barely able to hold himself up above you.

“ _ Fuck _ , I—of course I’m  _ that into you _ , you’re amazing, you— _ ah _ , look what you  _ do _ to me!”

You hum, grinning. “I make you come in your pants like a horny teenager?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” he hisses, his whole body quaking as you don’t let up, getting yourself off against him like he did with you.

Oh, you’ve never felt so proud and so very  _ wanted _ ; it sends sparks flying through you, fireworks bursting in your core. You’re so turned on, wet all the way through your shorts, the way you’re grinding against his thigh making you twitch and gasp.

“God,” he chokes, “I—you— _ hah! _ It’s—so much!”

You force yourself to slow down, to let him catch his breath for a moment, and you wrap your arms around his neck, combing your fingers through his white hair. Flushed and sweating, he looks absolutely wrecked, and honestly, it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. His lips are bitten and kiss-swollen, his cheeks darkened by his blush, and his warm breath fans your skin as he pants, finally coming down from his high.

“You are  _ incredible _ ,” he sighs.

Still a little desperate, your voice comes out strained and rough with desire as you quip, “incredible and  _ all yours _ , baby.”

Apparently, that’s exactly what he wanted to hear, because your words draw a strangled chitter from his throat and his hand is moving again, trailing down your stomach as a jolt of anticipation runs through you and makes your hips jerk.

It’s exactly what  _ you _ want, too; your head falls back as he teases at the waistband of your shorts, and you’re rutting against his thigh again as he laughs, trying to hold you still as he slips his fingers beneath your underwear and you moan, loud and unrestrained.

“ _ Ohh _ , Indrid!” You gasp as his index finger finds your clit. “Indrid,  _ fuck _ , please, I’m yours, all yours!”

He doesn’t waste time, quickly setting a merciless pace, rubbing you fast and hard and you’re already seeing stars, eyes shut tight and back arching off the couch—it feels so good, so much, so— _ ah! _

The tension building within you reaches its crescendo, you’re on the edge, you’re going to—

Indrid leans down and kisses you deeply as you come, muffling your cry with his lips as you shake and writhe in pleasure, your vision going hazy around the edges as he slows. A few more lazy circles around your clit and you’re shuddering, whining against his mouth, and he finally, finally stops.

You both breathe heavily into the stillness, and when you open your eyes again, Indrid is grinning wide. 

And your expression matches his as a short, sated laugh breaks free of your chest.

“ _ Shit, I love you, _ ” you both say, and you smile as you draw him into a softer, unhurried kiss. His lips fit perfectly against yours, puzzle pieces interlocking so impossibly well, you’ve never been so sure that the two of you were made for each other. 

“Ah,” he laughs against you, and it doesn’t take you long to figure out why.

“Ready again so soon?” You tease.

“Sylvan stamina,” he replies, grinning. “Why don’t we actually take our clothes off, this time?”

You snort, rolling your hips against his wet jeans just for the sharp intake of breath it earns you. “I imagine that’s getting a little uncomfortable, huh?”

He’s laughing too, already moving to tug off your shorts. “Hey, I’m not the only one that just came in my pants, you know.”

“Touché,” you reply, clumsily trying to help him out of his clothes, too. “Also, maybe we should move to the bed this time.”

His laughter is melodic and contagious as he agrees, clambering off of you with his jeans unbuttoned and hoisting you into his arms. “I’ll make love to you wherever you want. The bedroom  _ is _ a classic choice, though.”

He smothers your giggles with his kisses, and you feel so safe—so  _ loved _ —in his embrace... you could probably keep this up all night.

And, in all honesty, you probably will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming untouched,, is,,, hooo boy so hot. Don’t even worry, you haven’t seen the last of this one from me!!  
Hmu on [tumblr](https://hopeless-ar0mantic.tumblr.com/), or come join the [Indridfuckers](https://discord.gg/pYhkfFv) discord server!   
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!


	8. Overwhelmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid becomes overwhelmed by his visions while kissing you, but don’t worry—you’re there to take care of him. (Chapter-relevant tags: overstimulation, gentle sex, riding)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the sappiest smut i’ve ever written and tbh?? Im proud of it.

Indrid’s lips are warm against your own, his kisses messy and unrestrained. The love between you, spreading under your skin and fogging up his glasses, has you nearly dizzy, so full of happiness you could melt from it. His hands are on your waist, holding you flush against him as you comb your fingers through his hair; and the sheets are soft beneath you, with the low light seeping into the bedroom from the hall and casting the two of you in an incandescent yellow.

He’s trembling, and you can feel it where his fingers meet your skin, where his mouth seeks the warmth of your own. It makes you smile; you know how he feels: so full of desire you can think of nothing else.

You roll your hips against his, hazy-minded, heart pounding, delighting in the desperate moan the contact draws from Indrid’s lips.

“Wait,” he gasps. 

Immediately, you stop, pulling away to look at him with concern.

“What’s wrong?”

His brows are drawn together, eyes shut tight and breathing heavy. He looks almost like he’s in pain, and your first, panicked thought is that you accidentally hurt him somehow.

He shakes his head. “N-nothing’s wrong, I, ah, I’m just a little... overwhelmed.” He takes a shaky breath, and when he opens his eyes, the intense glow of them bathes you in red, amplified by the strength of his feelings and matching the color in his cheeks. “My _visions_,” he gasps. “I can’t—can’t focus, oh _god_—”

You’ve seen him like this before—when he’s seeing too much at once, when his control slips and everything becomes sensation. Gingerly, you trace your thumb across his cheekbone, trying to ground him. “Do you want to slow down, or stop? Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“N-no,” his grip on your waist tightens, his voice colored with desperation. “P-please—I can’t—don’t want to stop! You—my visions—I see—_you_, everything is you, all the ways this—this could go—”

Your eyes soften as your worry fades. It’s obvious what he sees, why he’s so worked up when you haven’t even touched him yet... his mind is so clouded with _want_ and _need_ that he can barely speak. 

“Indrid,” you breathe, smiling gently, “will you let me take care of you?”

His answer comes as a choked groan, a sound that forces its way out of his chest like a wild animal escaping its cage. He nods, almost frenzied. “I’m sorry, I—”

You silence him with your lips, rolling your hips again, and his high pitched exhalation ignites that fire in your core, the aching desire that you’ve never felt as strongly as you do when you’re with Indrid: love and lust and the euphoria of knowing that the feeling goes both ways.

“_Don’t apologize,_” he says with you, the words dragged from his lips like he’s lost all control, like the future is all he can see. “_Just tell me what you want._”

“I want _you_,” he gasps, pleads, “so—so badly! I—_ah!_”

You rub yourself against him, slipping your hands under his shirt, leaning down to kiss his neck. “_Shhh,_ it’s okay, Indrid. You have me. I’m yours.” You grin into his skin as he chitters, that adorable insectoid sound that tells you exactly how worked up he is, how much he loves to be reminded that you’re _his_. “And I’m gonna make you feel so _good_.”

He leans his head back as he groans, baring his neck to you, and he shivers as you nip at his skin affectionately. You leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, his shoulder, and he jumps and whines at each one. It makes you grin; you _know_ how he likes it, know every spot that makes him whimper, and every sound he makes only spurs you on faster, arousal pooling in your gut and clouding your mind and making you so goddamn _wet_.

With a bit of maneuvering, you pull his tank top off, admiring the flush of his chest for just a moment before you yank yours off as well, tossing it to the floor before pressing yourself back against him, kissing his collarbones and chest as you fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans, hands nearly trembling with want.

He whines and stutters as you shimmy his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock, already so hard and beading with precome; and when you wrap your hand around him, thumb rubbing over the head and smearing the wetness there, he _yelps_.

The sound almost makes you double over, lust casting a fog over your senses as your stomach flips pleasantly.

One slow stroke all the way from base to tip has him keening, breathing labored and heart pounding so fast in his ribcage. Two has a strange, inhuman hum building in the back of his throat that makes you see stars.

“You’re so cute,” you smile, moving back to his lips to slip your tongue in his mouth and muffle the lovely little sounds he’s making, the vibrations of them strong against your tongue. His hips twitch, thrusting into your hand, and you can’t help the giggle that makes its way out of your chest. “So cute and so _desperate_—don’t you want to wait until I have you inside me to come?”

He moans so loudly as you stroke him again that the sound vibrates through your chest, coils tightly in your abdomen, drags a gasp from your lips. “Point taken.”

You need both your hands to get your own pants off, and Indrid whines hopelessly at the loss of your touch. But it’s only for a moment as you tug off your underwear and then brace yourself on his lap, rolling your hips against him as he shudders, chitters, gasps—a perfect cacophony of sounds that sends jolts of arousal crackling through you. The thought of him inside you, filling you up so perfectly, the perfect complement to your body, the missing piece of your puzzle; it’s so much, you want him so badly—

“Easy babe, I need you to be still for just a second here, okay?”

He nods, biting his lip so hard you’re afraid he’ll draw blood—so you kiss him, running your tongue over his bottom lip, grounding him as you line yourself up, _nice and easy_...

He gives a desperate, strangled cry as you seat yourself fully, grimacing slightly as you adjust to the stretch, though both of you are wet enough that he slides in easily. “_Fuck,_” you choke against his lips, as he whines against yours.

You take a deep breath as he twitches, trying so hard to stay still despite the way he clearly wants to thrust into you, chase the building feeling of bliss he’s already lost in.

“Okay,” you breathe, raising up on your knees, just barely keeping the head of his cock sheathed inside you before taking him again in one smooth motion.

Indrid cries your name—_loud_—his whole body shaking as you gasp again.

“I love you,” you smile, dragging yourself up and down on his cock as he continues his litany of sounds. Deep, inhuman groans and high whines intermixed, breathy moans and chitters, each sound sending sparks right to your burning, aching core.

“_Please,_” Indrid gasps—_begs_—eyes shut tight and head thrown back against the pillows as you take him again.

Your entire body is flushed with warmth, the feeling of him inside you so _right_ and so _perfect_—you gasp too, “anything, Indrid, I’ll give you anything,” and he whines again, high and unrestrained and so, so desperate.

“I’ve got you, babe, I’ve got you,” you promise, picking up the pace; and his body responds in kind, hips jerking upward to meet yours, hands on your waist with a death grip. “Oh love, you’re so beautiful like this,” you croon, words tumbling out of your mouth as the tension within you coils tighter. “So perfect, so—_ah_—needy!” 

“I—you—“ he tries, but his voice breaks, cutting off with a breathy moan that makes your toes curl and your stomach do somersaults.

“That’s right, that’s right,” you smile, and then, _oh!_ You’ve found the right angle now, _fuck_ that feels good—and evidently Indrid feels the same, because his thighs clench beneath you as he cries out, a sound so filthy it makes you gasp.

“God, I’m so in love with you, Indrid! The sounds you make, that look on your face, love, I could come undone just seeing you like this—“

You slam your hips back down and nearly see _stars_, groaning his name until he’s positively writhing, strangled cries and choked moans and broken fragments of words and sentences all spilling from his lips like a song—your favorite song, the only song that’s ever mattered, the song at the center of the _universe_.

His cock hits that place deep inside you that has you gasping for air, but you need to keep talking—

“But I want you to fall apart first, I wanna see what I do to you, babe, I wanna take care of you—wanna make you feel good—do you feel good, Indrid?”

He can’t respond with words, but he nods frantically, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and _god, you’d do anything for him._

“That’s right, I adore you, you’re my everything, body and _soul,_” you can’t help the way you’re starting to babble, praising every little thing you can think of as his wanton moans and chitters and growls get louder and louder—he must be getting close, and _fuck_, so are you. 

He begins to squeak, again and again, precious, loud, inhuman sounds that nudge you closer to the edge, knowing you have him so utterly wrecked—his face is so red, sweat dripping down his forehead, brows scrunched together so _cutely_...

“Please, Indrid, I want you to come now, I need to see you come!”

And Indrid comes with a _scream_, falling apart beneath your hips, your hands; a beautiful mess as you feel that familiar warmth inside you, and fuck, fuck, _fuck_; he feels so good, you’re so in love—you slam your hips down as hard as you can once, twice, pressure building, coiling tighter, tighter, _tighter—_

_Oh!_ The tension snaps, and you cry out, nearly collapsing on top of Indrid as your vision goes white at the edges. Indrid shudders, cries out again, so overly sensitive that as you clench around him, the tears begin to fall, overwhelmed and overfucked. Still, you give a few more shallow, gentle thrusts as your body shakes, kissing him deeply, swallowing his wobbly moans and brushing your thumb across his cheek to catch his tears, the aftershocks of your orgasm making you shudder against him.

“I love you,” you promise against his lips.

He makes a sound that conveys the same idea, although you don’t think he’ll be capable of speech for a little while yet.

Your head fits so perfectly in the crook of his neck as you both breathe, slowly coming down from your high, boneless and exhausted and sated.

“You okay?” You smile, and he nods.

And gently, so gently, you pull yourself off of him, drawing one more strangled moan from his lips before you lay down against his chest, easing him down with your fingers stroking his cheek, his neck. 

“I love you,” you repeat as his chest heaves, legs shake, hands tremble. “I love you so much.”

Eventually, his breathing begins to even out, his muscles unclenching and his eyes finally fluttering open. As his glowing gaze falls upon you, he smiles, entirely spent.

“I love you too,” he breathes, hand resting against your cheek. And then, he blushes an impressive shade of red as he adds, “thank you.”

That makes you giggle. “Indrid, I promise you, the pleasure’s all mine.”

He quirks an eyebrow, glancing down at the mess you two have made. “Quite obviously, it wasn’t _all_ yours.”

“Hmm, I guess not.” You grin. “Then the pleasure’s both of ours!”

“I love you,” he repeats with a laugh, pulling you into a soft, adoring kiss.

You melt under his touch, feeling for all the world like you’ve died and gone to heaven, and you wonder—for probably the hundredth time that day—just how you got so lucky.

Oh well; it seems he got lucky too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhh,,, sounds,,,,  
(what's up im sef and im a sappy, sappy mess!) I hope you enjoyed this chapter!! Just so y'all know, I've got big plans for this fic for valentines day... the plan is to drop 3 or 4 chapters ;)))   
hit that mf comment button if u love making indrid a MESS!  
as always, you can find me on [tumblr](https://hopeless-ar0mantic.tumblr.com/), or over at the [Indridfuckers](https://discord.gg/pYhkfFv) discord! (come on, join us, you know you want to!)


	9. After Work Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve been at work all day, and you’re, like, super horny. Indrid knows how you feel—and when you finally get home, he’s waiting for you. (Chapter-relevant tags: sex against the wall, mothfucking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day (chapter 1 of 3!!!) I hope you enjoy~  
(alternatively titled: things i think about way too much at work)

It’s morning—not early anymore, you’ve long since left for work, but Indrid is finally waking up. He yawns and gives a leisurely stretch, and because he doesn’t quite want to get out of bed yet, he turns a sleepy eye to the future to see what the day has in store.

Nothing much is happening in Kepler, and over in Sylvain, the rebuilding efforts are coming along smoothly, as usual. Thacker will find an old tome that he’s particularly excited about, and it will be of some importance to Janelle as well. Duck and Leo will spar outside their apartment building, Barclay will make a particularly tasty french onion soup (no doubt trying to rival the other lodge nearby), and Mama will sleep in—good, she deserves that. Indrid can see that the future is bright, and it is in good hands. So he looks to you, and he smiles. His beloved, his life, the one who makes his personal future shine like the sun.

He sees you at your desk—it’s slightly messy as you flip between a few different papers as reference for whatever it is you’re doing on the computer, and there are two empty coffee cups in the corner. You rub your eyes and sigh, and Indrid knows the sound of your frustration well. You flip back to the page you had just finished reading, your eyes tracing back over the paragraphs as if you completely missed their meaning the first time around. You look back to your computer. “_Goddamnit_,” you whisper to yourself, hand covering your face now, and then grumble something under your breath that Indrid can’t quite make out. Your face seems awfully red.

What is it that’s eating at you? What are you frustrated about? Indrid looks farther into the future, to when you come home. Maybe you’ll tell him. If he finds out now, he can be ready to help.

“You were frustrated at work today,” he’ll say. “Is it anything I can help with? Or do you want to vent about anything?”

You’ll turn a violent shade of scarlet as he asks this, and understanding dawns upon him. Frustrated. As in—

Back in the near future, your blush only grows deeper, and you’re fidgeting in your chair quite a bit. You shake your head, like you’re trying to clear your thoughts. 

Indrid’s heart flutters, and he looks forward again, to tonight.

He has you pinned to the wall in his true form, the tips of his claws digging into your thighs, and your hands are fisted in the fluff around his neck as he—

_Oh_.

How many hours until you’re home?

\---

It’s been a rough fucking day. Maybe it’s hormones, or maybe it’s just one of those days—whatever the reason, you’ve been horny for hours now, and you’re thanking all the powers that be that you’re at least done with work. Sitting at your desk was _agony_. Besides—home is where Indrid is, and lord knows he’s been the subject of all your fantasies since the day you met. Doubly so since you’ve been together, and you’ve learned _oh so much_ about him. Like the noises he makes when he’s too turned on to think, or the things he can do with his tongue; _shit_, you hope he’s not busy, or out getting groceries, or something inconvenient like that. Although—you shouldn’t be too hasty, there’s every possibility that he’s not in the mood right now, and you’d never push that sort of thing.

You reach the door to your apartment, ready to push it open and call out that you’re home, but it opens before you can even touch it: Indrid is right there in the entryway, an inhumanly wide grin set on his face.

You startle, clutching your hand to your chest. “Jesus fuck, Indrid!” 

“_You’re gonna give me a heart attack!_” He continues with you; then, “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t wait to see you—”

There’s something in his voice that you can’t quite place, something like nerves as he ushers you inside and (quickly, efficiently) helps you out of your coat.

As you take off your shoes, you inhale deeply, debating the best way to bring up the fact that you’ve been relentlessly horny all day and would really like to fuck _right now_, if that’s alright with him—but as you stand back up, Indrid leans forward, bracing his hand on the wall beside your head.

You let out a surprised little _eep!_ at the move, flushing down to your chest as your heart jumps into your throat, arousal crackling through you like a lightning strike.

His voice is a low rumble against your ear, sending goosebumps cascading across your shoulders and down your arms as he says, “you’re going to tell me you’ve been thinking about me all day. I’m going to tell you the same. Just give me the where and how, my love.”

Shuddering, your head falls back against the wall. _Shit._

With a shaky exhalation, you manage, “right here, right now. Please.”

He grins, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, and your knees go weak. “That’s what I thought you’d say,” he whispers, and in one smooth movement, his arms are braced under your legs, hoisting you up as your strength fails you entirely.

As your back slams against the wall, your hands fly around Indrid’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair as his lips crash against yours. His glasses dig into your cheeks, the metal frames cool against your already flushed skin as he kisses you with open mouth, tongue pressing between your lips, face nearly horizontal against yours as you lean up to meet him.

He pulls you flush against his hips with a grunt, and he’s already hard—which is perfect, because you’re already soaking wet.

Lips travelling down to your jaw, Indrid lets you breathe; though you can’t manage much more than shallow gasps at the way his mouth moves over your skin. When he nips at your neck, you can’t help the choked moan that makes its way past your lips, and Indrid grins, teeth against your skin as you desperately try to get some friction between your hips.

“Please,” you gasp, “can I—”

“Yes,” he growls into your neck; and you grab the stems of his glasses, yanking them off without ceremony.

Instantly, he transforms: the hands holding you up grow larger and become claws, and an extra pair of arms wraps around your middle. Your legs are wrapped around the junction of his thorax and abdomen, your hands fisted in the fluffy mantle around his neck. His mandibles are positioned around your neck, and you are all too aware of his otherworldly strength—not that he would ever use it against you, only to protect you. You feel _safe_.

He takes a moment to adjust your position, and you pull your shirt off over your head with a quick yank. 

Then, Indrid’s mandibles graze your neck, and his long tongue uncoils, making you flush with want where it meets your skin. Desire rushes through you in a wave as his claws dig into your thighs and a low pitched trill makes its way out of his chest. 

“Fuck, Indrid, I need to get my pants off—set me down a second.”

“That isn’t necessary,” he says, and before you can ask how he’s going to maneuver this one, he lifts you up by your arms, making you squeak indignantly. Using his other pair of hands, he undoes your buttons and zipper, tugging your pants down to your knees, off one leg and then the other. Then his claws are back on your ass, your back is up against the wall, and his mandibles are on your neck as you laugh.

“Can’t even let me go for a second?” You tease, finishing the statement with a pleased little hum as he nips your neck, his tongue sneaking down your chest and tickling at your stomach.

His words are slightly garbled with his tongue in the way as he says, “are you really going to tease me when I’ve been so _lonely_ all day? Waiting for you to come back to me? I saw you all day—saw _this—_watched you fidget in your seat, unable to think straight—”

“Fuck,” you whine, as he drags one knuckle between your folds, gently, his claw facing away from you so he doesn’t accidentally scratch. 

“God, you’re so _wet_,” he says, that unmistakable grin in his voice dragging all sorts of fantasies to the forefront of your mind.

“_Indrid_,” you whine as he nudges your clit. 

You grip his fluffy neck tighter as he keeps rubbing against you, letting you lean into his face to kiss his mandibles, trilling as he draws a moan from your lips. “I saw how much you want this, I saw the way you’re going to _scream_ for me—”

Your thighs hold him tighter. “How long have you been—_hah_—thinkin about me?”

“Since the moment I woke up.”

That admission makes your hips jerk, trying your best to rub up against his abdomen, to get a little more friction—and mercifully, he grants it to you, rubbing you a little faster and harder as your head falls back to hit the wall behind you. 

“But,” Indrid continues, “you know my visions are nothing compared to you.”

“_Nnh_,” you reply, intelligently.

With your hips angled just above his sheath, you can feel his arousal, the way his cock begins to push free. 

You’d better help him along.

One hand still fisted in his fluff, you trail your fingers down his thorax, stopping at the junction between thorax and abdomen to tease at the soft chink in his exoskeleton there, drawing an excited chirp from his throat. A little lower, between your thighs, and you reach the top of his slit, and _oh_, good, he’s already wet. As you slide a finger inside him, running it against the head of his cock, his rumbling purr is interrupted by a lovely little moan—so deep, it vibrates through your bones. You grin. 

“Come out for me, baby,” you murmur as his claws tighten their hold. He leans some of his weight against you, against the wall, and when you slowly pull your finger out—only to replace it with two—his long, high whine is enough to make your legs shake. Every time you brush your fingers over the head of his cock, he unsheathes a little more, pressing outward as his antennae twitch and chittering gets louder. You move from fingering to stroking, the pressure of your hand evidently just what he needs; his hip jerk against you, and his slick cock slides between your thighs, sending a jolt of anticipation up your spine.

Okay, that’s enough of that. You need him inside you, _now_. You try to convey as much in the roll of your hips, dragging yourself against him with a whine.

He nods, understanding the message loud and clear, and he nips at your neck as he adjusts you, pulling you up just a little higher as you wiggle your hips to line him up.

He doesn’t need a reminder to start slow, he knows you need a little time to adjust to his true form each time, but he’s perfectly willing to accommodate you, easing himself inside you inch but inch as your hands fist into his fluff and you hiss out a curse. Once he’s fully seated, panting and doing his best to stay still, you take a deep breath, exhaling a hum that makes his wings flutter behind him. 

Two taps on his shoulder is his signal that you’re ready for him to start moving, and he chitters as he pulls out about halfway, gasping as he reseats himself. 

_God, you’ve needed this_.

His claws are firm, but gentle in their hold, his fluff soft and warm against your chest, his cock thick and ridged inside you—_fuck!_ The texture of him is so _good_ as he slowly thrusts into you that you’re already trembling, so desperate for him after a day spent lost in fantasies and unable to do anything about it.

He groans into your neck, and you echo the sound.

“_Fuck, you feel good,_” you both say, and you laugh as he cuts off with another moan. 

“That’s my line,” you retort.

“It’s _really_ my line,” he groans.

“_Faster,_” you gasp.

Immediately, he grants your request, his hold tightening as he almost fully pulls out, then thrusts in hard enough to make you lose your breath.

You gasp in tandem as he hits just the right spot—and then he quickly does it again.

“_J-just like that_,” you manage through grit teeth. 

He trills, wings fluttering wildly as he picks up the pace even more, nearly slamming you against the wall in his excitement—but you hardly notice, the ache of pleasure building and building with each thrust of his hips.

“You’re so—_god_—so tight! You feel so good, _oh_—”

“Indrid, _fuck_,”

He seems to take that as a command more than an expletive, and you’re certainly not complaining as he drives up into you, at the same time pulling you down onto him, hitting that spot again so hard you cry out, throwing your head back and clenching your thighs around his middle.

“I’ve been—_ah!_—thinking about this all _day_,” he babbles. “You’re so beautiful, taking my cock like this, I can’t even—_fuck_—can’t_ think_, you feel so _good_, you’re _perfect_—”

Nodding frantically as your pleasure builds and builds, you move to touch yourself, to add to the stimulation inside you, but one of Indrid’s extra hands stops you. 

“No,” he hisses. “Let me—”

Still roughly fucking you against the wall, he uses one hand to brace himself, the other positioned between you, his knuckle brushing against your clit and _holy shit; fuck!_

“_Indrid!_” You cry his name, over and over again as your world narrows to just sensation, just his cock inside you and his fingers on your clit and _holy shit_ you’re going to come, you’re so close, _you’re_—

Your breath catches in your throat and Indrid _growls_, so low and _desperate_ that it’s the final push you need to send you over the edge, your muscles clenching around him and making him cry out, too. A few rougher, clumsier, frenzied thrusts and Indrid comes as well, pulsing inside you, warmth seeping out between you as you shudder through the aftershocks, waves of leftover pleasure making you shiver and him keen.

Finally, as you catch your breath, Indrid bracing himself with two hands against the wall and you clinging to him tightly, he pulls out slowly with a long, drawn-out groan.

“_Fuck_,” you both exhale, and then laugh.

“Yeah,” you croak with a decisive nod. “I needed that.”

“As did I.” 

“We should uh—“

“_Get cleaned up_. Yes, I couldn’t agree more.” His antennae droop, relaxed as he nuzzles against you. “It’s going to be a bit difficult for you to walk, though.”

You blush. Yeah, that’s... certainly an issue. 

“Don’t worry,” his cheery lilt assures you. “I’ll carry you as long as you need.”

With a gentle kiss to each of his mandibles, you smile. “I hope you’re ready to carry me all night, then, ‘cuz you fucked me _good_.”

He stands up straight, pushing himself off the wall with a melodic laugh. “If I could keep you against me like this forever, I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's February 14th, you know what that means!! 3 chapters in one day!! I'll be posting the next one when I get home from work ;)  
As always, you can find me on tumblr, or join our discord, Indridfuckers Inc. <3


	10. I Sucked The Mothman’s Dick in an Old RV in Kepler, WV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just want to go down on your giant monster boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know those shirts that say "I sucked Mothman's Dick in Point Pleasant, WV?" yeah, i want one of those.  
(Disclaimer: i had never even given *thought* to the idea of sucking dick before this. it is very obviously My First Blowjob Fic)

Watching a movie seldom actually results in _watching the movie_ when you’re with Indrid. All it takes is one look at his profile as he wraps his arm around you, and suddenly all you can think about is how much you want to kiss him. And evidently he feels the same, because now he’s grinning wide and hitting the mute button on the TV remote, and the movie is forgotten as he pulls you into his lap, his lips against yours and your breathless laughter between you.

It doesn’t take long to get heated; kisses becoming deeper and more desperate, hands seeking skin and breaths getting heavy—you both know where the night is heading, and the familiar undercurrent of love and lust spurs you on quickly. Your fingers find the stems of his glasses and he gives you a nod, letting you remove his magical accessory to reveal his true form: huge, winged, alien, and extraordinarily beautiful.

You have to rise up on your knees to reach his face now, but he leans down to meet you, nuzzling his mandibles against your cheeks.

“Hey there, lovebug,” you grin.

Indrid gives an exasperated (but fond) huff at your silly nickname, nipping your neck gently as payback for the bad pun. It only makes you giggle more, planting kisses on the hard chitin of his face as your fingers comb through the fluff around his neck.

His four clawed hands are all over you, rucking up your shirt and tickling your sides and grabbing your ass, and you laugh as you kiss his mandibles. “Careful with the claws,” you remind him, teasing; “I like these shorts, and I don’t want them ripped.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds. “But maybe we should take them off... just as a precautionary measure?” The humor sparkling in his voice makes you warm all over.

“Quite the pickup line; next thing I know you’re going to be telling me—”

“—_those pants look great on you, but I think they’d look even better on my floor_,” he finishes. “Or, I could just be honest and tell you how much I’d like to have you naked right now.”

He might not be able to grin in this form, but you can practically _hear_ his smirk as you turn bright red.

You clear your throat. “And, um, just how much is that, exactly?”

He lowers his voice, brushing a claw across your cheek as he draws another down your back; just to watch you shiver. “More than you can even imagine.” 

You don’t need to be asked twice.

You hop off of his lap, stripping in record time, and you can feel his red gaze like a searchlight on your back. When you turn back around to face him, blushing down to your chest, his antennae stand straight up, his glowing eyes brighten, and a strained chitter makes its way out of his throat. He looks you up and down, and there’s so much love and desire in his eyes that it makes you weak in the knees.

He holds his arms out to you, beckoning, and you climb into his embrace.

“Have I ever told you how absolutely beautiful you are?” He asks, as if it’s not something he tells you several times a day.

You hum in response, grinning as his hands resume their wandering. “As if you’re one to talk, mister Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

He leans down to rest his forehead against yours, his antennae drooping down and tickling your shoulders as you kiss his mandibles. They feel like feathers on your skin, impossibly soft and light, and, really, how can you resist running your fingers over their edges; especially when it draws such a pleased little sound from Indrid’s throat?

God, what _wouldn’t _you do to hear all the wonderful noises he makes? Your smile turns a tad devious as you repeat the motion, just barely brushing the tips of your fingers down one antenna, then the other.

His strangled little squeak sends warmth coursing through you, pooling low in your abdomen and coiling there like a loaded spring. His claws dig into your thighs, just slightly, and you decide on _exactly_ what you’re going to do to keep those sounds coming.

Your grin is positively wicked now as you leave a trail of kisses down Indrid’s mandibles to his thorax, and he purrs at the attention, his wings fluttering against the couch cushions behind him. He’s so soft, you can’t help rubbing your cheek against the fluff around his neck, and it makes him laugh a short, breathy laugh as you make your way down his body, kissing and stroking and loving. 

You know the anticipation has made him jumpy—it always does—but it doesn’t change the way you take your time, punctuating each kiss with some sweet nothing that makes him chitter and squirm.

“I’m so lucky,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the first segment of his thorax. “My big, soft boyfriend.” _Another kiss_. “So beautiful and amazing.” You rub your nose into his fluff. “And he’s all _mine_.” That one earns you a shudder that runs all the way up Indrid’s back; his wings and antennae shiver with it. When you grin, your teeth graze chitin.

There’s no surprise to be had; Indrid’s future sight ensures that he knows exactly what you’re planning... but there’s a certain fun in that, too. You feel his excitement in the way he holds himself, straining to keep still and let you have your fun, knowing his reward will be all the sweeter if he does.

And you don’t need future vision to know that you’ll be able to make him beg.

He squirms more and more as you make your way lower, bringing your hands to rest on his legs and looking up to meet his reddish gaze. His mandibles click together as you give him the most innocent smile you can muster—which isn’t quite that innocent, given your current position.

He visibly gulps when you flutter your eyelashes, holding his gaze as you press a kiss just above the place where his legs meet his abdomen; and he chitters when you drag your tongue across his skin.

“You’re in a teasing mood tonight,” he remarks, voice high and antennae twitching.

You hum, your lips still pressed against his chitinous skin. “I like the way you sound when you’re desperate,” you smirk, rubbing your thumbs over his thighs. “Sue me if I wanna drag it out a little.”

“Trust me, I’m not complaining.” His claws graze your head gently, an affectionate gesture that makes you close your eyes and smile. “How could I, when you’re so good to me?”

“Flatterer,” you snort, although the blush that rises in your cheeks tells him what his words mean to you. “I just... want to make you feel good.”

“And _god_, you do,” he sighs, then jumps a bit as you brush your lips against his abdomen.

“You mean it?” You flutter your eyelashes again, and you’re sure that if Indrid could blush in his true form, he would.

“I mean it more than anything, I—_ah_,”

You run your tongue across the slit that sheathes his cock, and the rapid click of his mandibles lets you know that you’ve interrupted his thoughts in the _best_ way.

“Sorry, babe,” you grin. “What were you saying?”

His voice is high and strained as he says, “nothing important.”

You grin wider. “No, no, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Please, interrupt away—”

You repeat the motion, cutting him off once again, and you giggle at the way he chokes on his words.

“What was that?” You ask, laughing.

“You—” he starts, breaking into a high whine as you slip your tongue inside him, nudging the tip of his cock still sheathed within.

With the taste of him on your tongue, you lick your lips exaggeratedly. “I what?” 

Indrid groans, deep and resonant—it rumbles through his chest and ignites a flare of warmth in your core. “You’re positively evil.”

“You want me to stop, then?”

“Dear god, no,” he replies.

“That’s what I thought,” you smirk, planting one more kiss just above his slit before pressing your tongue inside.

Indrid chitters, his legs twitching as he begins to unsheathe at your touch. He’s warm, and wet, and as the head of his cock bulges and finally presses free of his sheath, your lips are there to welcome him.

Of course, he’s much longer than you can fit in your mouth, so your fingers join, stroking and licking him as he rises for you.

Once he’s fully unsheathed—long and thick and segmented, slick with viscous precome—you lift your mouth off of him with a _pop_, and he groans. “There you are,” you croon, and his chest rumbles with a deep purr, half embarrassed and half too-aroused-to-think.

His breathing is already picking up, becoming heavier as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock and your mouth around the head, swirling your tongue in the way that sends tremors through his antennae. He trills with delight as you stroke him slowly, jumping whenever your hand catches on one of the ridges.

“Love, I need you to be still now,” you caution. 

“_You don’t want to choke me_,” he says with you, then, “no, I certainly do not.”

You smile up at him, meeting his red gaze with your hand still wrapped around his cock.

The sound he makes as you slide your lips over his head again, immediately withdrawing and returning, bobbing your head in a slow rhythm, causes a flare of warmth in your core, and when you hum against him, he gasps.

It’s almost too much to keep your eyes on him; you’ll lose focus if you watch the way he trembles in delight, his eyes tracking your every movement, every stroke of his cock, every stretch of your lips.

You slide your tongue all the way down his length and back up again, lingering over each of the ridges that make him shake and shiver, already so worked up that his claws are flexed, needling into the couch to try to keep himself from thrusting into your mouth.

Hands and lips and tongue, you work him slowly, steadily, in all the ways you know he likes—a bit more pressure here, speeding up and then slowing down to make him whine, high pitched and needy.

Swirling your tongue over the tip of his cock makes him cry out, chittering low in the back of his throat as he gasps praise: “_Oh!_ Yes! You—_ah!_—feel s-so _good!_”

You would respond, if your mouth wasn’t already otherwise occupied; but you’re already trying hard not to smile as he babbles, losing himself in the feeling of your tongue. 

“You’re amazing, _fuck_, I’m so lucky, I—_ah!_—love you so much!”

You know that he knows you love him too; you don’t need to say it—but you intend to prove it.

You intend to take him apart entirely.

One of his legs jolts reflexively as you tongue the first ridge of his length, accompanied by a heavy gasp that shudders out of his chest. Your hand, wrapped around him, slides up and down and back up again, slowly picking up the pace as Indrid grabs onto the couch with all four hands, claws sinking into the fabric—oops, that’s going to tear it. Your tongue moves faster, too; tracing each feature of his cock, every little bump and ridge. His heart is pounding, and you can feel the pulse of it beneath his skin, on your tongue. It beats like this for _you_.

Indrid cries out, but it’s not words anymore. It’s something guttural, something that speaks of his loss of composure at your touch, his desperate need to come, his unwavering desire for you and the things you do to him.

You suck him harder, hollowing your cheeks, and the sound that comes out of his throat is somewhere between a squeak and a _scream_. “I’m—_hah!_”

Words aren’t necessary; you know by the twitching of his cock in your mouth that he’s close, _so_ close, _devastatingly_ close to release—

With a nod, you continue, giving him as much as you can, hand and lips tightening around him as he shakes and writhes and tries so hard not to move too much—

He comes with a shout, a shallow jerk of his hips that he can’t control, spurting into you; so much that you can’t possibly swallow it all—though you manage most of it, despite the excess dribbling down your chin.

You swallow, looking up to meet his reddish gaze as you pull your lips off of him with an obscene _pop_. He shudders, not breaking eye contact as you smirk, tongue darting out to lick him clean despite the shivers that wrack his whole body, the resonant groan that tears its way out of his chest at the overstimulation.

You can still feel drops of him, the stickiness beginning to dry on your chin, but you think it probably adds to the look as you smile up at him, as beatific as someone who just sucked the _hell_ out of the mothman’s dick can appear.

He gives a final, exhausted moan at the look of you, disheveled and on your knees before him, as he finally stills—and as he retracts, totally spent, Indrid pulls you into his arms, rubbing his claw over your cheek gently. “You... are _incredible_,” he pants, swiping his come from your chin with his thumb. 

You grin, and his eyes flutter closed as he sighs. For a moment, everything is still. He lets you rest against his fluff, his chest heaving as he catches his breath, his claws tracing lovely little patterns on your back that make you shiver, still awfully aroused, but happy to have been able to make _him_ feel good.

And then, his breathing steadies, and with lightning speed, he flips you over onto your back. 

“My turn,” he grins, and a rush of heat sweeps through you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW THAT SURE WAS *checks word count* 2300 WORDS OF SUCKING MONSTER DONG--  
Happy Valentine's Day, chapter 2 of 3 ;)))  
As always, you can find me on tumblr, or join our discord, Indridfuckers Inc. <3


	11. Teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid can see exactly when to stop touching you so that you don’t come, and exactly how long to wait so that you’re begging the entire time. He will edge you for hours, if you let him. And holy shit, you just might. (Chapter-relevant tags: edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, multiple orgasms)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i jotted down the idea for this one it was something like [indrid edges u half to death and then makes u come til u cant remember ur own name] and tbh thats very sexy of me.

You have absolutely no idea how long Indrid has been teasing you like this, one hand around both your wrists, pinning them above your head, the other tracing devastatingly light circles around your clit as he whispers and growls in your ear, telling you how lovely you are, how much fun you are to torture like this. Maybe it’s only been like, ten or fifteen minutes, but it may as well have been hours for all you can figure, lost in a haze of arousal that Indrid refuses to satisfy.

You let out a whine, high pitched and absolutely desperate. “_Indrid, please!_”

His grin is devilish, his voice honeyed and innocent as he asks, “please what, love?”

Already blushing from the tips of your ears down to your chest, you’re sure you manage to go an even darker shade of red. “Please, give me something! Just, _ah! _Harder, please!”

He hums at your plea, but he doesn’t change his technique. “Is that what you want?” He pretends to think it over, that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips. You try to move your wrists but... well, Indrid’s supernatural strength has you completely stuck.

He’s giving you just enough to keep you begging, toying with you just to watch you squirm, and it’s as maddening as it is _breathtakingly_ hot. A shudder runs through you, and his glowing eyes track it with interest. When he leans down to kiss your chest, you can’t help the way your hips jerk upward to meet his fingers—but he knew you would do that, and the action brings no extra friction.

Now you _whimper_, so frustrated, so _needy_ you can barely stand it. “_Please_,” you gasp.

Indrid raises his eyebrows. “You want me to go faster? Harder?”

You nod frantically. You have never in your life wanted anything as much as you want him to move _faster_ and _harder_.

Finally, _finally_, he obliges. His grin stretches impossibly wide as you cry out, the sudden change in pressure and pace sending sparks through your system, making your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he praises. “So perfect, making all these lovely sounds for me.” That smile on his face is going to be the death of you.

“_God, Indrid, ah!” _You’re not quite sure what it is you want to say—you just know that you need to keep talking, keep telling him how good he makes you feel, how absolutely desperate you are for him. If there’s a heaven, you’ve certainly found it in the way he rubs you off, his fingers slick with your arousal, sliding against you at the most perfect angle—the pressure is building so quickly, you won’t last long, it’s so much, so _good...!_

Your back arches again and Indrid laughs, melodic and teasing. “Do you like this?” He asks, and that goddamn lilt of his has you seeing stars.

“Yes!” You half-shout, already too desperate for release to worry about something as trivial as neighbors—besides, Indrid said they’re out for the night, anyway. “_Yes, ohhh!_”

“I’m going to let go of your wrists now, but if you move them, I’ll stop, okay?”

You’re nodding and biting your lip, and as he lets go, you lock your arms in place as best you can, even when everything in you is screaming to put your hands on his skin, pull him to you, kiss him senseless—

“_Good_,” Indrid purrs, and another jolt of pleasure has you precipitously close to the edge, hips twitching uncontrollably under his touch—

“_Ah!_ Indrid! I’m—I’m so—_ah!”_

“Do you want to come for me, love?” He asks, all sweetness and faux innocence.

And you’re breaking apart, so close to release, “yes! Yes!”

The tension is climbing, building, reaching the edge and—

Indrid suddenly stops, withdrawing his fingers.

Confusion throws you for a moment, and when you realize what he’s doing, all you can do is whine, long and high. “Indriiiiiid,” you cry, “pleeeeease!” When you move to sit up, to grab him and make him touch you again, he stills you with a hand against your chest.

“Shhhh,” he croons. “Don’t move, remember?”

His other hand steadies your hips, keeping you from any of the pressure and friction you _need_—it’s so unfair; all you can do is whine helplessly as he laughs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “It’s just... wow, you’re so beautiful like this.”

You try to pout, but you know the expression falls flat; there’s too much frustration and desperation in your eyes for it to land. You huff a sigh as you try to force your muscles to relax—you know this game, and the sooner you bring yourself down, the sooner Indrid will touch you again.

His crooked grin widens. “That’s it,” he says, lifting his hands as you stop trying to move. He rewards your efforts with a gentle kiss, first on your lips, then your jaw, then your neck. 

And by the time he nips at your collarbone, you’re too distracted to notice what his other hand is doing... until he slides two fingers against you, and you give a startled yelp.

Oversensitized by his teasing, it only takes a couple of strokes for the pleasure to begin its slow climb again—emphasis on _slow_, because Indrid is back to those light, teasing circles that he favors. You bite your lip, but it doesn’t stop the whine from escaping your throat, and Indrid chuckles, the sound rumbling through your chest like an earthquake. 

“_Not fair!_” You manage.

“Oh, but it’s going to be worth it,” he taunts, that goddamn grin still fixed to his lips. You can hear it in his voice, feel it against your chest, and it’s so fucking _hot_ that you might just die. “I wish you could see what I see,” he continues, his words shivering over your skin. “God, you look so good when you beg for me.”

_Fuck!_

“I could keep you like this for hours, and _oh_, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be kept on the edge until you can’t do anything but whine and plead and call my name?” His fingers move faster, just slightly, and you gasp. _He’s right, you _would_ like that, you’d like it so much_—

“There are so many ways I could take this, but which one should I choose? As much as I like touching you like this—“ his circles become back-and-forth strokes, and your legs twitch as a wave of pleasure rolls over you. “—it’s a little too... fast, for my taste.”

Fast? The agonizing and deliberate slowness of his current pace is already torture—is he really calling _this_ fast?

“What if we tried this?” That fucking smirk is going to _ruin_ you as he drags his fingers down, between your folds and against your entrance.

“_Fuck, yes!”_ The idea of his long, graceful fingers inside of you is irresistible, warmth coursing beneath your skin at the idea of what he can do to you, how he always knows just how to take you apart from the inside out.

You groan as he pushes one finger inside, then another. He meets no resistance—you’re dripping wet from all of his teasing—and the gentle glide as he pulls out and goes back in makes your legs shake, the tension within you coiling tighter and tighter, winding up for a release that you know he won’t give you yet.

Still, you approach that edge with alarming speed, your hips moving of their own accord as his long fingers just barely brush the perfect spot. In and out, and then curling, just right, inside you and—

He stops. And you whine.

“_Pleeeease_, Indrid!”

He makes a soft tutting sound, one hand on your hip keeping you still and he’s grinning, that wonderful, terrible, too-hot-to-be-legal wide grin that has you trembling with need, with frustrated desire.

Giving you a minute to breathe, Indrid kisses your chest—light, barely there touches of his lips to your skin that aren’t _enough_ but they feel so _good_. His hands are moving now, stroking up your sides, and you’re so sensitive in the wake of his teasing that you shiver and keen at the brush of his fingertips.

“_Please_,” you whine, again and again, though he shows no signs of giving up so soon. 

Then his lips meet your own. “Please what?” He smirks.

God, you wish you had it in you to glare at him right now. But there’s not room for anything besides desperation in your expression as you beg, “please Indrid, _touch me!_”

“I am,” he grins, tracing little circles on your stomach that have you twitching, needing him to just move lower, but he won’t.

“You know what I mean!”

“Hmm. Afraid I don’t.”

You groan in frustration. “You’re so mean tonight!”

He hums against your jaw. “Only because you like it so much.”

You hate how right he is.

“But I suppose... since you asked so nicely...”

That’s the only warning you get before his clever fingers are back, right where you need them, drawing a startled yelp of arousal from your lips and causing your hips to buck—only kept still by Indrid’s superhuman strength. This time, he wastes no time building up to speed; he’s already rubbing you fast and hard and you’re _writhing_ under his touch, gasping curses and crying out his name as he grins, his eyes glowing dangerously bright as he holds you down, watches you squirm and shake and shudder. 

Your train of thought is something like _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_—hardly coherent, lost in the throes of pleasure as you quickly approach the edge.

Maybe he’ll take pity on you, maybe he’ll stop edging—maybe he’ll finally let you come.

You grit your teeth and whine, high and drawn-out. “Indrid, _please!_ I need to—god, please let me—“

He cocks his head to the side, smiling innocently. “You want to come?”

“_Yes!”_ You nearly shriek—thanking god your neighbors aren’t home. 

He doesn’t slow his torture, even as he taps his chin, pretending to think. Finally, he speaks. “I think I’ve teased you long enough—I’m going to let you come for me.”

You nearly cry with relief, gasping your thanks, but Indrid cuts you off.

“I’m going to let you come—but.”

“_But?_” 

“But.” His grin becomes even more devious as your body is wracked with shudders. “If I let you come now, I’m not going to _stop_ making you come.”

Your arms, still locked above your head, can’t be still any longer, but Indrid says nothing as you slam them down at your sides, grasping the sheets. A wave of pleasure rolls through you, nearly strong enough to fog your vision, and you fist your hands into the bedsheets with, trying (and failing) to bite back a cry: his name, probably, but you’ve completely lost the ability to think by this point. “_Fuck—holy fuck—yes! Okay! Indrid! Please!_”

You squeeze your eyes shut as Indrid laughs, wonderful and full of torturous promise, and you come _hard_—back arching off the bed, toes curling, gasping for air. You might’ve screamed. You’re not sure.

And true to his word, Indrid doesn’t stop. Writhing around the aftershocks, thighs and calves clenched hard, your hips would be jerking wildly, if it wasn’t for Indrid’s grip holding you down. 

“Fuck—_Ah! _That’s! _Fuck!_”

Quickly, he switches from rubbing you off to fingering again, his index and middle fingers long and thin and too much and not _enough_—

“_Oh_, love, I wish you could see my visions. The way you’re going to cry for me. The way you’re going to shake. You’re going to feel so wonderful, I can see it on your face.”

You can’t discard the notion that his smile is bordering on _predatory_ right now, so unlike him and yet... you find your stomach twisting again already, your body apparently deciding to forego its refractory period almost entirely.

A shiver runs down his spine, and his glowing eyes flutter, long white lashes almost brushing his cheeks. He takes a deep breath, and smiles impossibly wider. “How many times do you think you can come tonight?”

You aren’t capable of answering that question rationally, you’re so gone as he curls his fingers _just right_ inside you. You’ll come as many times as he wants you to—as many times as he’ll _let_ you.

His blunt nails dig into your side where he holds you, a constant reminder of what lies under the surface, beneath the disguise. His alien strength. His true self, that you love to pieces.

“I’m not going to tell you the answer to that, by the way. But it’s more than two.”

As if on cue, you come again, twitching and trembling as you cry out, unintelligible as the tension snaps, even harder the second time than it did the first.

Indrid still doesn’t stop.

“_Fuck!_” You scream, eyes screwed shut against the onslaught of sensation. You try to lift your hips, to move away from his fingers, still rhythmically pushing inside you even as you clench around him, legs and hips jerking wildly in the aftershocks; but he’s too strong, and one hand braced on your hip is enough to keep you from interrupting his pace.

His name falls from your lips, over and over again as he resumes rubbing circles around your clit, your legs and ass already sore from how tightly you’ve been clenching your muscles, but you can’t be still. Not when he knows exactly how to send waves of pleasure crashing over you, when he can see just how to touch you to make you lose all control, squirming under his fingers.

You’re so oversensitive now, already building to your third orgasm as Indrid keeps up the pace, talking you through the tears beginning to spring to your eyes; it almost _hurts_ as he moves his fingers against you—_almost_. The words he’s saying aren’t sticking in your brain, hazy and overwhelmed as it is with pleasure, but the love in his voice is unmistakable.

You come a third time, and you’re very aware that yeah, you’re screaming now.

“_Stop, stop, please, god, Indrid!_” You whine as he _still_ continues rubbing your aching clit.

“Safe word?” He asks.

But you only grit your teeth and moan.

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” he smirks.

_Bastard!_ If he wasn’t holding you down, you’d probably... well, you’d probably be trying to hold your_self_ still, if you’re being honest; it’s _torture_, but the pleasure is already building again, coiling low in your gut and making you tremble and whine and beg. You’re not sure anymore if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going, but you’re definitely begging, pleading, crying, tears beginning to streak down your face.

“So lovely, so good for me,” he’s crooning, and jeez, are his arms even getting tired?

Your whole body feels wound tighter than a supercoiled spring, every muscle clenched in pleasure and agony, so much sensation at once.

This might be how you die.

But _oh_, what a way to go.

Orgasm number four is the strongest yet: your vision blurs, and you scream so loud that all of Kepler probably knows exactly what’s going on, but you’re _way_ too far gone to care about that.

Indrid is laughing; that perfect, wonderful laugh that curls in your stomach and sends thrills up your spine.

His fingers against you are unyielding, taking you apart again and again, and every time you think that maybe he’s taking pity on you, granting you a moment to catch your breath, it’s only to change his technique, to press two—then three—fingers inside you and curl them and make you writhe.

Wait, was that five or six?

The concept of time stopped making sense ages ago—how long does it take to make someone come this many times, anyway? You’re not sure, but Indrid shows no signs of fatigue as he plays you like an instrument, pressing all the right keys to make your body _sing_. 

“That’s it, my love, that’s it,” his smile is going wobbly, watching you has obviously made him awfully hot and bothered, but he’s not giving you a moment to reply.

Your clit is aching, and you must have made a puddle on the sheets by now. The pain and the pleasure blur together so completely, though, you’re not sure which is which.

And you’ve definitely lost track of how many times you’ve come.

Suddenly, Indrid’s grin widens, and a shiver runs through you, from head to toe. 

“You’re nearing your limit,” he teases, voice heavy with arousal but still that familiar lilt that you love so much. “Will you let me fuck you?”

You don’t have it in you to do much other than nod; god, as much as you want to stop, to give your aching body some rest, the thought of Indrid’s cock inside you, of Indrid losing himself above you—you can’t resist.

You get a brief moment to breathe as he discards his boxers, and in the seconds you have to collect yourself, chest heaving, thighs flexing, you realize: he’s been hard this whole time, patiently waiting for you to reach your limit. Blazing heat sweeps through you as he lowers himself, shaggy hair tickling your face as he kisses you deeply, giving a slight grunt as he lines himself up.

You gasp as the tip of his cock presses against you, and you groan in tandem as he pushes in.

If his fingers were _too much_, then his hard cock is _so fucking much, holy shit_—he isn’t toying with you anymore, his own desire too strong to take it slow as he thrusts his hips against you and you cry out.

He feels so _good_ and you’ve come so many times, it’s no wonder the pressure begins to build again rapidly, feeling like the ebb and flow of the tide, sweeping your senses out from under you and tossing them to the riptide. In the darkness of your closed eyes, everything is pure sensation: the rhythmic slam of Indrid’s hips against your own, his lips messy on your neck, his breath warm on your skin, and above it all, the desperate groans he’s letting out, matching your whining pleas that _definitely_ don’t make sense anymore.

Arousal builds and pools and coils tighter and tighter inside you, destroying your sense of reality, diminishing everything to two single points: you, and the love of your life. Or maybe, at this point, with him inside you and around you... maybe it’s safe to say you’re no longer _two_.

Just as you’re about to come undone, break apart entirely, Indrid’s cock hitting you deep inside, he leans his weight on one arm, the other stroking down your stomach, reaching your swollen clit and rubbing you hard—

You’re fairly sure you’ve never come so hard in your life as your vision goes entirely white and your hips buck so wildly that Indrid loses his balance as he comes too; wrapping his arms around you as he rolls sideways with a startled yelp, splattering your thighs with his come.

There are a few beats of silence as your vision returns to you, every muscle in your body aching and twitching and finally, _finally_ coming down from your prolonged high.

And then, everything is laughter, and Indrid’s lips on your cheeks, your nose, your mouth. You laugh until you’re dizzy again, gasping for breath and totally limp, boneless in Indrid’s embrace.

When you’ve caught your breath, staring into Indrid’s eyes, you tuck a strand of white hair behind his ear. 

“_I need some water_,” you both say, and Indrid continues, “you absolutely do. I’ll be right back.”

\---

Once he’s made you drink some water (and swapped the sheets), Indrid eases you into your pajamas, mindful of your shaky legs, and helps you lie down. You’re very ready to pass the fuck out and not wake up until morning.

“How are you feeling?” Indrid asks as he lies down beside you, soft and sweet and very much _not_ like he just made you come so many times you nearly passed out.

“Good,” you sigh tiredly, cracking open one eye to look up at him. “And sleepy.”

He laughs, quiet and full of adoration. “I’m sure. You were... _amazing_.” 

His praise makes you smile, heart fluttering, and when he strokes your head gently, you lean into the touch with a little noise of contentment. “You really know how to make a mess of me, huh?”

“The same could be said the other way around,” he grins. “I love you so much—I’d really do absolutely anything for you.”

The expression on his face is one you know well, by now: devotion of the highest order, the truest kind of love. You reach out to pull him into a gentle kiss, hoping that it’s clear to him just how mutual the sentiment is. In case he doesn’t see it in your face, though, you voice it, too: “I love you so fucking much,” you mumble against his lips.

He laughs back, that sweet, melodic sound that lifts your spirits on the darkest days, and he hugs you close, your bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle; face to face with his hands around your waist and yours braced against his chest. It’s perfect, and uniquely yours. No one else could feel so right. 

“You deserve to sleep,” he says. “I’m going to make you breakfast tomorrow. You won’t have to leave this bed at all.”

“You, cooking breakfast?” You giggle. “I’m not so sure about that—“

“_I’ve seen you burn more than just toast_,” he finishes with you. “Yes, well, I’ve been practicing my pancakes, and I can see that you’re going to be pleasantly surprised.” 

“I’ll take your word for it, babe. And, um. Thank you. Both preemptively for the pancakes, and for... you know. Fucking me within an inch of my life.”

He kisses your forehead, laughing. “I promise you that it’s my pleasure; for both.”

Snuggling against him as he drapes the covers over you both, the warmth of sleep beckons you, and you press one more sleepy kiss to his lips as you murmur, “goodnight, Indrid. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he repeats, his soft smile warm and easy against your own. “With everything that I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting any chapter of this fic is a lot like me laying all my cards down on the table and saying "well, here's /my/ kinks," but this chapter especially. i have revealed too much.  
JF;ASLKDJF THATS VALENTINE'S DAY, BABE, 3 FOR 3! all told im pretty sure i posted over 10k words today which is very unlike me.   
I hope you've enjoyed this eventful, eventful day ;) <3  
As always, you can find me on tumblr, or join our discord, Indridfuckers Inc. <3


	12. Lovebug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pine Guard is hunting the newest abomination. Judging by the phase of the moon, it should have come through the gate the night before, but thankfully, no one has been brutally murdered yet. Duck did have to shoo some rabidly horny teenagers out of the park this morning, but that couldn’t have anything to do with the hunt... right? 
> 
> Set in a nebulous canon divergent AU—post-calamity tree arc, but you and Indrid are part of the Pine Guard. Don’t think about it too hard. Just some silly and sexy fun! (Chapter relevant tags: supernatural aphrodisiacs, established (yet new) relationship)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been affectionately referring to this one as "fuck or die" so like. theres that.   
yes, it's sex pollen trope, but as always, explicit and enthusiastic consent is key!

Maybe it’s the euphoria of a new relationship—after months of pining, the relief of finally knowing that your feelings are requited; maybe it’s the sheer adrenaline rush of the hunt, the latest abomination that came through the gate (with terrible timing, so soon after you confessed your feelings)... but whatever the reason, you have very little self-restraint today, and Indrid is the same.

Is it professional to make out with your boyfriend while you’re on patrol in the woods? No. 

Is it something you’re doing anyway? Absolutely.

Your back hits something rough and hard, and—oh, Indrid has you backed up against a tree, the bark digging into your skin, but you don’t mind. Not as his lips meet yours and his hands find your waist, rucking up the hem of your shirt to find purchase on your skin. You pull him down to you, arms locked around his neck, parting your lips to ask him to kiss you deeper, harder. Yesterday was torture—to be around him, knowing how you both feel, and unable to kiss him, to have other things to deal with... But now it’s just the two of you, and while, yes, you do have a job to do, you can surely take a few minutes to satisfy the desire between you, right?

\---

You had been unprepared for Barclay’s call the morning before: the abomination the last thing on your mind as the phantom sensation of Indrid’s kiss still lingered on your lips. 

Barclay had ushered you into the lodge, and as you descended into the basement-slash-Pine Guard headquarters, you found that nearly everyone else was already there. You had smiled when you spotted Indrid, your stomach doing somersaults as he immediately straightened his posture, giving you a lopsided grin in return. You made a beeline to stand by his side, offering small waves to the rest of the gathered crew, and although Aubrey quirked an eyebrow at the two of you, she said nothing; because Mama and Duck came down the stairs behind you.

“A’right,” Mama said. “We’re lucky enough to have a head start this time. Let’s not waste it.” She gestured to Duck, who stepped forward with a sigh.

“Got a call from Juno this mornin’,” he drawled, clearly having been up early, judging by the dark circles under his eyes and the cup of coffee clutched tightly in his hand. “We got, uh, an _insect_ problem.”

All heads had turned to Indrid, and he gave a slightly annoyed huff, crossing his arms. “Need I remind you that not all insects are my kin?”

“Of _course_ not—” Ned boomed, but before he could dig his own grave with whatever he was going to say next, Barclay interrupted.

“—Indrid, can you see anything in the future? Anything that can help us defeat it?”

“Not _it_; them. I can see a swarm—a cloud of wasp-like things.”

Aubrey shuddered. “I hate wasps. No offense, Indrid.”

“Like I said—not related to me at all—_Do you see anything else?_” He spoke with Mama, and rubbed his temple. “Somehow, looking at it is giving me a headache. Like it’s interfering with my visions. I can see flashes: Duck, Aubrey, and Ned facing it down—flames—but... it seems to be hiding from me.”

He looked like he was in a significant amount of pain, and you took his hand in your own, giving it a gentle squeeze and hoping to provide some comfort.

At the mention of flames, Aubrey perked up, and Duck gave her a pointed glare. “Aubrey, we’re _not_ burnin’ down this forest—”

“I know, I know, but if it’s vulnerable to fire—”

Barclay turned to the whiteboard on the wall, jotting down a few quick notes in a bulleted list: the first point said ‘wasp swarm,’ the second said ‘fire?’

“I hate to say it,” you had pointed out, “but I think the abominations are smart enough to not send over another thing that can be burned down like the first one y’all faced. I mean... it’s no coincidence that the next one was a water elemental, right?”

“Duck,” Mama said. “You said nobody was hurt yet, right?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Indrid, do you know how this thing is gonna try to hurt us?”

He grimaced and shook his head. “I can’t—”

He stumbled suddenly, like his knees had gone weak, and you surged after him in a panic as he leaned his weight against the wall, trembling. The rest of the Pine Guard crowded around him, worried.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “It’s—it’s shutting me out, somehow.”

You helped ease him down to the floor, waving at the rest of the gathered group to back up, to give him some space. Placing a hand on his forehead, you gasped. “Indrid, you’re burning up—you need to stop trying to look at it.”

His head _thunked_ back against the wall as he released the vision with a sigh of relief, and you stroked his cheek gently, trying to ground him as his chest heaved. The room was quiet. Tense.

As his breathing slowed, Indrid spoke up again. “I think... it knows about me. It has countermeasures for my visions.”

“That’s... really troublin’ news, Indrid,” Mama had said, sounding more than a bit rattled despite her calm demeanor. 

Barclay offered Indrid his hand, easily pulling him back to a standing position, and Indrid swayed slightly on his feet. “Why don’t I make some tea,” he suggested. “We can keep planning in a little bit.”

\---

Now, Indrid slips his hands under your shirt, fingers roaming up your sides, making you gasp against his lips, ticklish. He grins as he does it again, and you’re giggling into the kiss, so in love you can hardly stand it.

Yes; it’s unprofessional. But you’re in _love_.

Breathless, you wrap your arms around Indrid’s neck, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth as you angle your nose against him.

Then, there’s a sharp, unpleasant prick at your neck, and you reflexively swat at it, letting out a muffled “ouch,” against Indrid’s lips. Your hand comes away streaked with bug guts—whatever it was, you killed it.

Suddenly, Indrid goes rigid. “_Oh no_.”

Alarmed, you freeze in place. The bite stings on your neck, a warmth seeming to emanate from it, but before you can move your hand to cover it, Indrid snaps, “don’t touch it! That bug—it was a part of the abomination, oh god, I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner, this is all my fault—” As his voice dips into panic, you take a deep breath, although dread is building in your chest.

“It’s okay, Indrid; it’s not your fault—”

He starts to protest, but you cut him off.

“It’s not. Just... tell me what you see now. What is the bite going to do?”

You can tell by the frantic way he wrings his hands that he’s having trouble focusing on the future, and you move to lay your hand on his in reassurance. 

The moment you make contact, however, the strangest sensation cracks through you like a lightning bolt: the stinging heat of the bite travels like a whiplash down your arm, jumping from nerve to nerve until your whole arm is aflame with it. You pull your hand back with a startled yelp, but the warmth doesn’t stop spreading—soon your chest is heaving with it as it engulfs your other arm, your face, down into your belly, your hips, your legs; it pools and coils and burns and it feels remarkably like...

_Oh, fuck._

Your first thought is that now is _really_ not the time for this. Your second thought is that this is far beyond the normal amount of arousal you feel, even at your most worked up—_even when you’re watching as Indrid draws and he does that really cute thing where he sticks his tongue out in concentration and_—

Blazing heat sweeps through you and you can barely keep yourself standing as you lean your entire weight against the tree behind you, accidentally letting out a whine that makes you slap your hand over your mouth in shame.

There’s panic in Indrid’s every movement as his hands hover near you—clearly understanding that his touch brought discomfort but not realizing how. His eyes are darting back and forth, scanning the future for some information that will help, something to tell him what’s going on, what he can do—his posture goes rigid, and you know he’s found his answer.

“_Shit,_” you exhale, at the same time as Indrid.

Now is not the time to panic. “We should—”

“—Get you back to the lodge immediately, yes,” he says, blushing. “More will come.” He reaches for you again, then stops. “It... gets worse when I touch you?”

You nod.

“I’m so sorry, this is going to be rather uncomfortable, then,” Indrid says, taking off his glasses. “But it will be much faster if I fly you.”

Your knees go weak at the sight of him; so tall, so alien, so _fucking hot jesus christ_—

The fact of Indrid’s strength hits you harder than it ever has before as his arms wrap around you, the feeling of his touch far too much for your oversensitized skin, and searing heat rips through you as he takes flight. You do your best to muffle the wanton groan that makes its way out of your chest, burying your face into the fluff around his neck, but you know he can feel it. Over the roaring wind, you can hear him apologizing, telling you it’ll be over soon, but his voice rumbles in his chest and sends you reeling, almost nauseous with the force of arousal flipping your stomach and coiling in your gut. He’s so strong, he can take such good care of you, he can _fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for days_—

It’s an agonizing few minutes as you try your best not to let your fantasies overwhelm you, burning heat scorching every inch of you, inside and out, but finally, you arrive at the lodge and Indrid ushers you inside, quickly calling out for Barclay to give him a room key.

“What’s wrong?” Barclay runs to your side, but Indrid stops him from touching you.

“The abomination—it can sting. One isn’t enough to kill, but I suspect multiple would be. They need to lie down, and they need to not be bothered.” 

“_Anything I can do?_” He says with Barclay. “Keep anyone from their room until I tell you otherwise.”

Barclay nods and hands Indrid a key, and you’re whisked up the stairs and into one of the lodge’s spare rooms, hardly able to walk with the way your legs are shaking.

The tears start to fall as soon as you cross the threshold, and Indrid looks like he’s never wanted to hold you more—although he knows that’s a bad idea. Both of you let out a strained curse.

“I’m sorry,” Indrid says, for the hundredth time. “I should have—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, voice hoarse. “I just need—” you cut off with an anguished sound. You don’t know what you need. Only what you _want_.

“I have to warn the others,” Indrid says, “but I promise, I’ll be right back. I’ll figure out how to help.”

You nod, tears in your eyes, as he leaves.

As the door closes behind him, you hastily lock it before immediately pulling off your clothes, the feeling of fabric against your skin too much sensation to bear. At the same time, though, you’ve never been so desperate for touch—you’re dripping wet, already feeling close to the edge... surely you’ll come with the slightest provocation. Maybe that will make you feel better. It seems to at least be what your body _wants_ you to do.

You grab one of the pillows and shove it against your mouth to muffle the insuppressible noises you’re making—you don’t want anyone in the lodge to hear you, but keeping quiet is an impossible task. Your hands are trembling, but you waste no time as you slide your fingers against yourself and scream into the pillow. Oh, dear _god_, you’ve never been so wet, and you’ve never been so oversensitive, just the barest brush of your fingers and you nearly blacked out, but he heat inside you coils ever tighter—

You want Indrid to come back. You _need_ him, he could hold you down and muffle your screams and touch you and kiss you and _fuck_ you—just like you’ve been dreaming about for months now, touching yourself to thoughts of him, and now that you know he feels the same—

Fuck, your legs are shaking so badly, you can barely breathe with the pillow over your face, even the lightest touch is sending you into hysterics; surely you’re going to come any second now!

But as you rub yourself again (and scream, again), the tension doesn’t snap; it only burns impossibly hotter, leaving you gasping and sweating and soaking the sheets.

It’s only a few minutes before your hands are shaking too badly to do anything, and you’re way worse off than you started.

This isn’t working.

Maybe you need the opposite approach.

You force yourself up from the bed and stumble into the bathroom, yanking open the shower curtain and turning on the water as cold as it will go. You _hate_ cold showers, but if anything can shock your system back to normal, maybe it will be this.

And it certainly shocks your system, the frigid water making your feverish skin steam as you step under the showerhead. You grit your teeth against the discomfort, and goosebumps rise up and down your arms, your chest, your legs. But cold as the water is, it doesn’t dampen the burning coals within you. It’s like fire and ice at once; two distinct kinds of agony, neither cancelling the other out, only building on the pain, doubling it.

You don’t even last a minute under the stream before you’re stumbling out with a gasp, shivering from two separate causes, teeth chattering and legs shaking, freezing and still burning, breaking out into a cold sweat that has you cursing as you try to dry yourself off, falling still-damp back onto the bed.

Yes, you’ve been fantasizing about Indrid for months, and your _solo_ sex life has never been more... active... but the intensity of the fantasies running through your mind right now puts your lovesick pining to shame—not so much thoughts as they are imagined sensation. You can feel the ghost of long fingers over sensitive skin, the brush of lips against your ear; can practically hear whispered words; Indrid’s voice, lilting and reassuring in that familiar cadence, saying all the words you’ve been dying to hear.

You’re shaking, gripping the sheets like a lifeline as you whine in pain. Indrid said he would be back. He’ll be back, and he’ll have some sort of solution—he always does—but you’re not sure if you can be around him right now. How can you look at him, as desperate as you are? You’re sure that the first words out of your mouth will be to beg him to touch you; and what if he doesn’t want that? 

A knock at the door startles you into a near-panic. “It’s just me,” Indrid’s voice rings out; and you’re burning.

You roll off the bed, tugging your clothes back on despite the shudder that runs through you at the touch of _anything_ against your skin. You must look a wreck as you unlock the door and pull it open, because Indrid’s expression is as worried as you’ve ever seen it.

Of course, that only registers after the fact that he’s slightly disheveled, hair windswept and glasses askew, and it’s all you can do to not jump his bones right there.

Instead, you take several quick steps backward, avoiding his gaze.

His voice is low, like he’s trying to reassure a wild animal, as he asks, “how are you feeling?”

The sound of it, the pleasant undertone that fills your favorite dreams, draws a whine from your lips before you can even think about answering; and now you’re both blushing bright red.

Your knees give out beneath you, and you fall back onto the bed, covering your face in embarrassment.

He closes the door behind him, coming to sit by you—not close enough to touch.

“Indrid please,” your voice is nearly a sob, but you’re too far gone to be able to regulate your emotions now— “please tell me you can see how long this is gonna last?”

Indrid fiddles with his glasses, his thumbs. He pauses a moment, and you know that behind those reflective glasses, his eyes are doing that quick back-and-forth that means he’s trying to see every possible outcome of the situation. “It will last... until we can defeat the abomination,” he finally says.

Despairing, your mortification only grows. “Oh god, that could take—“

“A couple of days still, yes.”

You put your head in your hands, muffling a cry that’s far too close to a moan. “I’m going to fucking die.”

Indrid clears his throat, and you look at him from between your fingers. “What?”

“There... might be a way to, ah, mitigate the symptoms, if not cure them entirely.” He looks entirely uncomfortable with this information.

You spring to his side, clutching his arm in your desperation—_wrong move! Every nerve in your hand fires at once, and you jump back as if branded, the fire there soothed momentarily but now tingling like you’ve been shocked_—and Indrid’s expression is equal parts concerned and hesitant, clearly wanting to reassure you with his touch but understanding that he can’t. “How?” You ask, throat raw, cradling your hand as another wave of heat sweeps through you. “What do I have to do?”

His hand—raised halfway, as if reaching out to you—lowers, and he looks deliberately to the side. You can see the dark blush creeping down his neck and oh god, the heat fiercens still.

“It... there isn’t anything you can do, by yourself.”

Another wave, and you gasp for air. The implication is clear, but... “Indrid, tell me.”

“It will help if you. Well. Do it. With... someone.”

He’s entirely too bashful about the subject, all things considered, and _fuck_ would that be cute if you didn’t feel like you were dying.

Indrid interrupts your train of thought with an audible gulp, and you clench your jaw hard as you try not to stare at his throat. (_It’s no use, you can’t help picturing the way you could kiss him there, the way he would gasp if you bit down_—) 

“Let me help you,” he says, so quiet that you aren’t entirely sure it wasn’t your imagination.

Your gaze snaps up to meet his, your mouth agape. The noise you make is less of a question and more of an eager, excited yelp.

“I understand if you don’t want to,” he hastily backtracks. “But I could help you. I can... I can see it.” His voice all but breaks, and the heat, already nigh unbearable, _triples_.

“_Indrid_,” you gasp, tears springing to your eyes. “I want to, _god,_ I want to so badly, but... we haven’t even... talked about boundaries, I... I don’t know if this is what _you_ want—”

Indrid looks taken aback. “I... you’re worried about _me?_”

You’re babbling now, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them as your skin burns and your stomach roils; “I don’t want to move too fast for you, Indrid, but I want you so bad—even before this, god, _long_ before this, and I know we only just got together...”

Slowly and gently, he lifts his hand to hover right by your cheek—not touching, but almost. “Listen to me,” he says. “I have wanted you since before I even met you. There is not a part of me that doesn’t want to be with you, in, ah, the _physical_ sense as well as the emotional. I’m so sorry that it isn’t in a different situation, but, rest assured, I want this.”

He laughs at the awestruck expression on your face, grinning that wide grin that gives you butterflies at the best of times, and now draws a high, wanton noise from your throat.

His palm makes contact with your cheek, and you’re burning, burning, _burning_.

That settles that, you suppose. “Fantastic; we’re both very horny for each other. So, can we get this show on the road? Because I’m literally dying and I need you to _fuck me right now_.”

You don’t need to ask twice. Indrid leans in to press his lips against yours and you meet him halfway, too quickly, crashing against him as the feeling of his skin against yours hits you like a lightning strike. It should be embarrassing, the way that you’re already tugging at his shirt, moaning into his lips, but goddamn it’s been a DAY, and if Indrid minds, he doesn’t show it, breaking the kiss only long enough to pull his tank top over his head, giving you space to do the same, and then he’s back. His bare chest against yours sends you reeling, unable to think, hardly able to breathe, and he’s kissing you senseless—or maybe you were already senseless; you were definitely already senseless—as he maneuvers you back onto the bed. His glasses bump against your nose and he pushes them up on top of his head, and his eyes—_oh, his eyes_—are glowing red, reflecting the desperate desire you feel burning so deep in your core. He has you on your back now, using one arm to brace himself above you, the other drawing patterns across your collarbone and onto your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling back, and you make a noise of surprise and impatience. “I... I imagined our first time going... much differently.”

You would laugh if you could, but now it only comes out as a deep, guttural groan. 

“Next time,” he promises. “Next time I’ll take my time with you. We’ll go nice and slow. It will be... _very_ romantic.”

His eyes are hypnotic, and you’re so gone. “I feel the same, Indrid, I really do, and later I’m absolutely going to ask you about how many times you’ve imagined our first time,” you babble, words spilling out without much input from your brain, “but right now, I really, _really_ need you to shut up and fuck me.”

“Right,” he nearly yelps, voice high and strained. And he’s kissing you again: lips and jaw and neck and chest, and his fingers are already at work on your shorts, and you can’t breathe; that aching, burning fire is more intense than anything you’ve ever known. You gasp and sigh and moan as he kisses and touches, and as he pulls down your shorts, you literally cry out.

He’s back at your lips in an instant, murmuring softly. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m going to take care of you.”

And you’re biting your lip so hard you draw blood as you nod. _You know. He’ll always take care of you. Your Indrid_.

His fingers trail down your stomach and you whine through bitten lips. He kisses you once, softly, runs his thumb over the part that’s now bleeding, and then his hand is covering your mouth—good thing, too, because when he slides his fingers against you, already dripping wet, you _scream_.

He kisses your nose softly and whispers, “I know, I know. Breathe through your nose and relax. I won’t let anyone hear.”

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes again, but Indrid’s fingers nudge your clit and there is no more room for rational thought as your back arches and your loud whine is muffled behind his hand.

You have never felt anything this _good_. 

Indrid must see that in your eyes, or in the future, because his eyebrows are raised as he grins—clearly, you’re not the only one enjoying this—and repeats the motion, his gaze roving your figure as he makes you writhe beneath him. The burning sensation throughout your whole body flares, but it no longer hurts, as if your body can’t handle any more pain signals and has decided to switch to pleasure. It makes you gasp and squirm and if it weren’t for Indrid’s hand over your mouth you know you’d be babbling incoherently already, or maybe just crying his name, over and over again.

He slips one long, slender finger inside you and you feel the bedsheet rip where you’ve been clinging to it. Indrid doesn’t comment, just adds another finger, pushing them deep inside you and withdrawing with the ease that your slickness provides. It’s already so much, almost _too_ much, but also not _nearly_ enough.

He picks up a slow rhythm, allowing you to get used to the feeling of his fingers inside you—though you don’t think you need much time, given the sheer desperation that’s been coursing through you since you were stung. And, honestly, before that.

If you could think at all right now, you’d probably reflect on how this is finally happening, how long you’ve dreamed of this, _him_, the idea of his lips on your skin and his voice in your ear and—

But Indrid curls his fingers deep inside you, and you definitely _cannot_ think at all right now.

He’s so gentle, even as he speeds up, fingers plunging inside you over and over again as you tremble beneath him, whining into his hand, already begging, pleading, _crying_.

“It’s going to be okay,” he reassures you again. “I’m going to make you feel so good, I’m going to take care of you.”

His voice sets off another wave of heat and pleasure, and cohesive thought becomes utterly impossible as your toes curl. You need him to—

“Okay,” Indrid pants. “I’m going to fuck you now, if that’s alright—”

He can’t even finish his sentence before you’re nodding frantically, fervently, his hand still clamped tightly over your mouth; his blush is so dark, his eyes so bright, his grin so crooked and _wanting_—your shaking fingers find the waistband of his boxers and tug them down and over his hard cock and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

And he’s kissing you again, your bodies bare against one another’s, chests and hips lined up and fitting together like they were made to do so. Indrid’s cock teases at your entrance and he greedily swallows your moans, muffling you with his lips as he adjusts his position, angling himself just right... and sinking in fully as your nails dig into his back and your back arches off the bed and you cry out his name.

Everything is pure sensation as he rolls his hips, giving a shallow thrust that sends electricity arcing through your body, every nerve a live wire as he grunts in pleasure. He pulls back, recovering your mouth with his hand, and his eyes are dangerously bright with ecstasy as he asks, “are you alright?”

You can only nod, tears streaming down your cheeks and leaving salt tracks in their wake; you’re so beyond alright, you’re in absolute heaven, teetering on the edge of release and so desperate for him to really fuck you.

He takes another deep breath, his expression sincere and open and full of awe as he says, “I love you, so, so much,” and thrusts into you again, so hard that you see stars.

You think you’re whining your own confessions of love and desire and wonder, too, and maybe Indrid knows what you’re saying, but you can’t be sure; your voice, muffled as it is, sounds so far away. Indrid slams into you again, and you scream as his cock hits you so deep and so right, your vision goes white around the edges.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he babbles. “I love you, I’ll make you feel so good, don’t worry—” his voice becoming more resonant, slightly deeper as he loses control, some sort of inhuman, subvocal hum lacing beneath his words and making your whole body vibrate with the frequency of it. “You’re doing so well, you’re so beautiful, I love you, I love you, I love you—”

You believe every word, and you hope to god he understands the strength with which you reciprocate, but you’re falling apart beneath him as he fucks you hard, bringing you closer and closer and closer—

Everything inside you is burning, spooled so tight you know you’re about to explode, shatter into a million pieces; but Indrid will put you back together again, he’ll take care of you, he’ll make sure you’re okay. You don’t have anything to worry about, he just wants you to feel good—and you do feel good, you feel so, so, _so good_; everything’s going hazy, you can’t quite remember what’s happening, but you know you love it, you know you love Indrid, you know Indrid loves _you_—

Something inside you finally breaks, snaps with a force you can barely comprehend, nearly lovecraftian in its enormity, and for a brief moment, you are entirely sure that you’ve just died and that this is heaven. And then everything goes white.

\---

Indrid looks very cute when he’s worried. You know he’s worried, because his brows are drawn together adorably, and his red eyes have that intense glow to them—like little will-o’-the-wisps. He’s blushing, too, you notice. _Very_ adorable. And oh, his lips are moving: he’s talking, asking you something—asking if you’re alright.

You try to smile and tell him you’ve never been better, but you’re surprised when what comes out is a barely comprehensible slur, “nev’rb...er.” Strange. 

There’s something at your lips. A glass of water. You drink.

Everything feels... tingly.

His eyes soften, and you realize that he’s stroking your cheek. You lean into it as the world begins to come back into focus. Your skin is still warm, feverish even, but it doesn’t burn. There’s a dull ache in your legs and hips... but that’s to be expected. You laugh a little bit, maybe slightly delirious, and Indrid looks concerned again.

“Heh,” you snort. “Can’t believe I got fucked so good I passed out.”

Relief floods Indrid’s expression as your words are no longer slurred, but now he just looks very apologetic. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yes,” you assure him. “And, thanks to you, I don’t feel like I’m literally dying.”

He blushes deeper, and a rush of affection overtakes you.

“I, ah, know that it wasn’t the most ideal scenario for our first time...” He kisses your nose gently. “But, for what it’s worth, you were wonderful. And... if you’d like, I’ll make it up to you, once you’re feeling better.”

A shiver runs up your spine at his words. “First of all, _yes_; second of all, I’m the one who should be making it up to _you_; and third of all... careful, I’m still lowkey supernaturally horny.”

“Ah,” he says. “Yes, that will... continue to be an issue until the abomination is dealt with.”

“Any clear timeline on that?”

He shrugs. “I think that Duck, Ned, and Aubrey found a weakness while we were... otherwise occupied.”

“None of them got stung, right?” That could make for an awkward scene.

“No, I was able to warm them in time. Ned ‘just so happened’ to have beekeeping suits at the Cryptonomica; imagine that.”

“Of course he does,” you laugh.

“It’s going to be alright,” Indrid promises.

You nod. You know, you believe him. And as warmth rushes through you again—not unbearable, yet, but slightly uncomfortable—you blush as you fidget slightly. “Do you, uh, want to—”

His lips are on yours again in an instant, a hissed “_yes,_” between you.

You hope the others defeat this abomination soon; but... there are worse ways this could have gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of all 35k words of this fic so far, this is the chapter i most feel the need to apologize to griffin mcelroy for.  
As always, you can find me on tumblr, or join our discord, Indridfuckers Inc. <3


	13. Sleepy Morning Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s exactly what it sounds like, folks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short rumination on love and intimacy, and the inherent eroticism of waking up together...

The sun hasn’t yet broken free of the horizon, the winter morning dark and cold and still outside your window; but in your bed, wrapped in Indrid’s embrace, you’re as warm as a summer day. Your eyes flutter as you wake, some sweet dream already lost to the night as your body adjusts to wakefulness—maybe only halfway.

Indrid shifts against you, his nose buried in your neck and arms snug around your middle, and you smile sleepily. 

“Mornin’,” you croak, voice heavy with the remnants of sleep.

His lips on your skin send shivers down your spine as he grins his own sleepy greeting, breath warm and arms tightening their hold.

You snuggle back against him, wiggling your hips, and,  _ oh _ . 

Good morning, indeed. 

You feel the goosebumps that rise along Indrid’s arms as he lets out a pleased little hum at the small bit of friction, and the sound curls through you, coiling low in your abdomen and growing warmer, an ember begging to be fanned into flame.

You roll over to bring yourself nose to nose, and find that his eyes are already open, glowing bright in the darkness of the morning, casting shadows along his face: highlighting the hollows of his cheekbones, the smile lines around his eyes.

Awed to breathlessness, all you can do is kiss him. The hand not pinned beneath you comes to rest on your cheek, and you allow your legs to tangle together, entwining yourself with him in any way that brings you closer, seeking a complete fusion of two into one. 

Indrid responds in kind, unsurprised and gentle as he lazily wraps himself around you, his lips warm and inviting against your own. You hum happily into the kiss, morning breath be damned, and your fingers find their way under his tank top, tracing the lines of his hip bones, his abdomen, his ribs.

He shivers as he pulls you flush against him with an insuppressible roll of his hips against yours, and it sends a wave of anticipation through you; doubly so when he trails his fingers down your side, making you shiver under the blankets. He stops at the hem of your underwear, grinning sleepily against your mouth as he asks, “may I?”

You wiggle your hips again, just slightly, just to feel the way he hums in pleasure. “Absolutely, you may.”

With that lovely smile against your lips, he obliges, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband and swallowing your answering moan as he slides them between your folds.

“So wet already?” He asks, smug and muffled as he kisses you.

“Maybe I was dreaming about you,” you reply, another little gasp escaping your lips as he begins to rub gentle circles around your clit. 

“I certainly hope so,” he says, and with one smooth movement, he rolls on top of you, hardly breaking the kiss. “Because I was dreaming about you.”

It always strikes you as wondrous; the way the two of you fit so perfectly together—as he nestles his body between your open legs, shimmying off his underwear and then yours before slipping a long, slender finger inside you, a sense of  _ rightness _ falls over your senses. He knows just how to work you; a few practiced strokes and you’re shivering already, pleading for more with every gasped sigh and muffled groan, and he happily complies, adding a second finger and causing your back to arch off the bed against him. His name falls whispered past your lips, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

And truly,  _ he’s _ the only thing in the world that matters to  _ you _ , as well; not just for the way his fingers coax insuppressible little moans from your throat as he guides you closer and closer to the edge, but for everything that he is, for every piece of him that you adore with your whole heart.

Brows drawn together in building pleasure, the only thing you can do is grasp his hand, and he moves it above your head, taking his other from you and propping himself up with it.

You whimper at the loss, your body aching for his touch, muscles clenching and grasping for what’s no longer there.

But his whispered voice, that lovely cadence that you adore so much, is tinged with desire, heavy and soft like the finest velvet, as he asks, “love, can I—?”

You’re already gasping  _ yes _ and  _ please _ ; you want him inside you so badly, you could cry.

He interlocks his fingers with yours, angling himself, lining himself up, the perfect complement to your body.

And Indrid rolls his hips slowly, lazily, pushing inside you so gently, so lovingly; and his muffled groan against your neck makes you shudder. Oh, he does such wonderful things to your body, always so gentle and kind. You’re so lucky, so  _ loved _ .

You stroke his hair softly, feeling the tension within him as it begins to wind up, and he repeats the motion, sinking in a little deeper, enough to make you hum in pleasure. He keeps kissing your collarbone, lips and tongue mapping your warm skin, and everything about him is perfect. His bed-tousled hair and the crimson glow of his eyes; the hollows of his cheekbones and the prominence of his ribs; he’s beautiful, inside and out, and with him buried deep inside you, you’re counting your lucky stars that he’s yours and you’re his. You hope that the quiet little moans slipping past your lips tell him how you feel—you’re a bit too tired for eloquence. Though, you’re certainly aware of  _ his _ feelings, as another gentle thrust has him whispering your name like a prayer, suffused with all the love and awe you couldn’t hope to convey with words. 

He whispers that love into your neck, rolls it against your hips, and you take every ounce of it, returning it with full force as you kiss him wherever you can reach, fingers trailing up and down his back as he moves against you, rhythm slow and steady despite the way you can feel him shiver and shake.

Lost in the way he slides in and out, everything becomes sensation. His warm breath and skin, the gentle pressure of his hand in yours, the electric tingling of your nerves, the sweet music of the sounds he makes: it’s all so much, winding you up to a fever pitch so quickly, lifting you up and up and up to that edge and threatening to tip you over. The tension within you coils tighter and tighter, slowly building to a crescendo as his rhythm stutters, speeds up; and you finally come with a rush that makes your toes curl, gasping out his name, a whispered confession of love against his skin as he does the same. You feel him shake above you, his own climax rolling over him as he groans, muffled and smiling.

And then, you both sigh happily, giggling into the morning air as the first rays of daylight begin to seep through the closed blinds. Heart stuttering, you tuck a loose strand of hair behind Indrid’s ear, and he grins so widely, you feel your chest squeeze tight, so full of love you could burst. For a few moments you stay like that, as close as two people can be as he kisses you again: a kiss filled with gratitude and love and  _ you make me feel so good _ . You echo these sentiments, smiling.

He gasps slightly as he finally pulls out, oversensitive in the wake of his orgasm, and then he rolls to the side, inviting you to cuddle up against him. You do so happily—suddenly very sleepy again as your heart rate slows and Indrid’s arms wrap around you, pulling you against him so that your foreheads just barely touch. The familiar glow of his eyes, now beginning to dim with his own tiredness, is a soft comfort, a grounding fact, a perfect reminder of the love you share. 

You could stay like this forever.

But for now, sleep beckons you both, and you silently resolve to clean up and change the sheets when you wake up again, in a couple of hours. There’s no rush. 

Your breathing slows, both of your smiles soften, and your eyes flutter. And there, in the warmth of your love and the golden light of dawn, you both drift off again, tangled together beneath the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this on mobile from vacation, but I did write most of it on my morning bus ride to work last week lol  
I hope you enjoyed this short chapter!!   
As always, you can find me on tumblr, or join our discord, Indridfuckers Inc. <3


	14. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid has finally confessed his feelings, and you’ve finally confessed in return. Things get heated pretty quickly, and more than anything, you’re very excited at the prospect of finally getting to touch him, to learn what makes the mothman tick. (Chapter relevant tags: first time, handjobs, body worship)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Travel stress? Write smut on the plane.

It doesn’t take long for your first kiss with Indrid to turn steamy, months of pent-up longing spurring you both onward as he tugs off your shirt and kisses you senseless, whispering reverently the entire time, confessions of love and wonder that might have been your own words echoed back just before you could say them. When your fingers come to rest on the stems of his glasses though, he hesitates.

“Indrid,” you say, already breathless. “Is it ok if I...?”

“I...” he flounders, blushing a bright and captivating red. “Are you sure you want that?”

“I’m—I’m very sure, but if you don’t want to, I won’t—“

“I do!” He rushes to reassure, blushing even brighter at his outburst. “I just... it’s... going to be logistically difficult; I can’t—kiss you well.”

You brush your thumb across his cheekbone, smiling. “Don’t worry about that,” you tell him. “We’ll find a way to make it work. Besides... I want to touch you, in your true form. And um.” You blush. “I’d really like it if you touched me with your claws...”

“Oh,” he says, his eyes tracking back and forth as his cheeks turn redder and redder; visions of the future apparently compelling enough to override his fears.

He slips off his glasses, and there, before you, is the most beautiful, alien being you could ever imagine: huge, fuzzy, and dark, with feathery antennae and fluttering wings, the moth-person you love.

You smile as you look him over, head to toe, finally able to really admire him, without fear of being caught, of your feelings being unreciprocated. 

“Indrid,” you breathe. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but I need you to know that I’m so incredibly attracted to you.”

A strange sound catches in his throat at that; something like a trill, a low vibrato that sends warmth rushing through you, bringing a blush to your cheeks as his antennae flatten against his head, a clear display of embarrassment.

“I... knew you were going to say that,” he says, “but somehow, actually hearing it still surprised me.”

There’s residual sadness in his voice—and you can guess why. Not many humans have been  _ accepting _ of his true form, let alone  _ attracted _ to him. But you intend to drive all doubt from his mind. 

You take a step toward him, closing the distance between you. He’s so tall, you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes—but when he takes a step backward to fall onto the couch, you’re just about eye level, those big, red, compound eyes tracking your every minute change in expression, in body language, searching for any fear, any revulsion.

“ _ Can I touch you? _ ” He asks as you do. And then he squeaks, “ _ yes _ .”

“I have to admit,” you say, bringing your hand to gently caress the side of his head, “I’ve wanted to do this for a really long time.”

His antennae perk up, just a little bit, excitement beginning to override embarrassment. 

Your cheeks are burning, but you need to make him understand your feelings. How much you want him. “You’re gorgeous... and just as soft as I imagined...” There’s awe in your voice as you gently stroke the fluff around his neck. He’s feather-soft, like down, and you have the sudden, all-consuming urge to press your face against him, nuzzle into his neck like a cat. 

You still have a  _ little _ self-restraint, though.

You trace his mandibles next, familiarizing yourself with the feeling of hard chitin—smooth and sharp-tipped beneath your fingers.

Indrid does that little trilling sound again, and jeez, that’s certainly a kink you didn’t know you had. The alien noise sets you alight, warmth pooling between your legs. 

His antennae stick straight up into the air. And, wait a second.

Those are  _ chemosensory _ organs.

In other words, his sense of  _ smell _ .

Your eyes go wide at the realization, and Indrid—sweet, awkward Indrid—begins to apologize.

“Yes,” he stutters, “I can smell that, I’m sorry— _ Why are you apologizing? _ —Because many people would consider it a breach of human privacy, to be able to... well, know when you’re— _ Horny _ .—Yes.” He averts his eyes, like he’s expecting admonishment, although he  _ has _ to be able to see that you’re not mad.

You give an embarrassed laugh. “Oh god, Indrid I promise I’m not upset... but did you really not know I was into you? If you can. Um. Smell when I’m... like this?”

If he could blush in this form, you’re sure he’d be bright red right now. “Just because I knew you were aroused, doesn’t mean I knew why. I didn’t want to assume.”

“Oh.” You run your fingers over the edges of his mandibles again. “Well, for the record, it was always you.”

His wings flutter, seemingly reflexively, and he squeaks out a sound of understanding, a trembling “ _ Oh _ .”

You grin, his clear arousal making you bolder. “Didn’t you know I was going to say that?”

“If I’m being honest, it’s very difficult to pay attention to my visions right now.” He fidgets a bit, antennae twitching.  _ Cute _ . “They’re very...  _ distracting _ .”

You have an idea of what he’s seeing. “Can I touch your antennae?”

You watch as a shiver runs through him, his wings trembling against the couch cushions. He nods. “Please.”

You just barely brush your fingertips against the feathery tip of his right antenna, and the effect is immediate. Although he clearly tries to keep still and quiet, that vibrato sound rumbles out again; a little bit stronger than Indrid anticipated, evidently, because he clamps one clawed hand over his mouthparts as he stutters another apology. 

Gently, you pry his hand away with a smile. “Indrid,” you giggle, “don’t apologize. As long as you’re still okay with it, I want to learn about you.  _ Especially _ where you like to be touched.”

He clicks his mandibles together—you’re gathering that it’s a nervous habit—and uses two arms to pull you forward until you’re standing directly between his legs, eye to eye. 

So, so carefully, he uses his mandibles to nip at your neck, like a kiss, and your knees go weak.

“I am... very okay with this,” he assures you. But if at any point you feel like we’re moving too quickly, we can stop, alright?”

You give him a nod. “The same goes for you, okay?”

“Okay.”

With butterflies in your stomach, you reach for his antenna again, this time brushing your fingertips slowly from base to tip as Indrid clicks and chitters. You repeat the motion on the other side, and a shudder runs up his back, shaking his wings. “Wow,” you breathe. “You really like that, don’t you?”

His nod is accompanied by a quiet, high-pitched whine, and it sends another wave of heat pulsing through you. If the lightest touch makes him sound like this, what will he sound like when you make him come? The force of the thought nearly brings you to your knees— _ oh my god _ , you’re going to be able to see him come for you. If he wants to, if he lets you touch him...

You trail your fingers along the edge of his forewing next; it’s dusty and soft, and a tiny bit of shimmery moth scale comes off on your hand as Indrid’s breathing speeds up, antennae shivering. So he likes being touched there, too. Perfect.

“I didn’t realize you were so... sensitive,” you smile.

He stutters. “I-it’s been, well, quite a long time since someone, ah, touched me like this.”

“Oh, well... um. For the record, me too.” You blush, and his claws on your waist draw little soothing circles that make goosebumps rise on your arms. “I guess that just means we have lost time to make up for, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Especially the months we spent pining for each other,” you venture.

“Especially those,” he squeaks.

You hum, brushing your fingers across his wings again, bringing them down the outside edge, and up the inside. When you reach the place where his wings connect with his thorax, Indrid jumps.

Pulling back quickly, you look at him. “Did that hurt?”

“N-no,” he says, “the, ah, junctions between my exoskeleton... they’re...”

“ _ Sensitive? _ ” You finish with him, and he nods. “Can I—“

“Yes,” he rushes, “please.”

Carefully, you retrace the path along his wing to the back of his thorax, wrapping your arms around him to reach. You kiss his face, right between his eyes, and this time, as you brush lightly against the softer skin at the base of his wings, he whines, high and wanting. He’s about to apologize again, you can feel it, so you keep him quiet with a kiss, your lips against his mouthparts. It doesn’t quite work—not like kissing him in his disguise does—but it’s a nice enough approximation. You hum. “Still doing alright? Do you want me to slow down?”

“Not unless you want to.” The tremor in his voice isn’t uncertainty; it’s pleasure, arousal, all the feelings that are coiling tightly inside  _ you _ as he lets you learn and explore, fingers searching every inch of his skin, breathless with the idea that this is just the first time of  _ many _ . 

“I’m good, Indrid, but, um. I...” you bite your lip, trying to find a good way to say it, but fortunately, he already understands.

“Don’t know much about my anatomy, no, you would have no way of knowing.” He closes his eyes with a groan as you both say, “ _ will you tell me? Or... if you’d like to... you could show me? _ ” 

It certainly  _ sounds _ like he wants to show you.

“Are you sure?” He asks, voice strained. “I—I’m not like a human...”

“Indrid,” you place your hands on his mandibles, cradling his face. “I’m sure you’re  _ beautiful _ . If you’re not ready, it’s alright, I won’t ever push you; but if you’re just nervous about my reaction... don’t be. I  _ really _ want this. I really want  _ you _ .”

He gives a strained chitter, his clawed grip tightening around your middle. “Believe me,” he gasps. “I’m ready.”

You settle into his lap, grinning. “Alright then. Please give me an anatomy lesson.”

His antennae flatten against his head, embarrassed. “W-well!” He stutters. “I’m ah—that is, my...”

“You can say dick, Indrid,” you laugh.

“Right!” He yelps. “My, uh,  _ dick _ . Is internal. Usually. Except when I’m... using it, it remains sheathed.”

You nod, trying not to betray your excitement.

Although, you’re pretty sure that Indrid can smell it, and you know you’re right when his wings flutter with barely contained arousal. Or maybe it’s because of what you’re about to ask him—

“Would it be okay if I... touched you?”

“God,  _ yes _ , I would like nothing more,” he groans, and your smile widens. 

You trail your fingers down his thorax slowly, gently, carefully, keeping track of every small reaction, the way he shudders when your fingers find chinks in his exoskeleton, the tiny gaps in chitin where his skin is softer; the way his claws dig into your skin and he makes a sound like an excited little chirp. It’s amazing, the way he seems to be so easy to rile up, and it’s amazing how every little noise he makes sends anticipation jolting through your nerves, riled up in turn.

There, just below the junction of his thorax and abdomen, you feel an interruption in the chitin, a vertical slit. The sound Indrid makes, a soft groan, the shiver of his antennae, lets you know that yes, this is what you think it is. You lean in to kiss his mandibles, reassurance as well as the simple desire to be closer, and whisper, “ _ I want to see you. _ ”

His head falls back against the couch cushions as you slide your fingers down his sheath, and he gasps, a quiet “ _ oh! _ ”

The head of his cock pushes free, its angled shape already sending a thrill down your spine as you imagine how it will feel inside you. He’s slick with some kind of internal lubricant, and your fingers glides easily against his length as it continues to press outward—something tells you neither of you will have to worry much about lube.

“ _ Wow _ ,” you whisper, watching him unsheathe—one ridge appears, then two, then three—he must be a full foot long once he’s all out, and you can tell just from looking that the texture is going to feel incredible. When you meet his eyes again, his antennae are twitching. His whole body is tensed with arousal and nerves, so you give him your most loving, reassuring smile, batting your eyelashes. “Indrid,” you murmur, wrapping your hand around his length as he lets out another quiet moan, “you’re fucking  _ amazing _ .”

“ _ A-ah _ ,” he chitters, shuddering from head to toe as you give him an experimental stroke. Your hand catches slightly on each of the ridges that allow him to retract, but he’s slick enough that it doesn’t hinder your progress; all the way up and all the way back down.

He sighs your name, and the sound has your stomach flipping pleasantly, cheeks flushed. He’s so... beautiful, so perfect. You want...

“ _ Not yet, _ ” he groans, answering your unspoken question. “I’m too... too big. Right now, I would hurt you. B-but... we can work up to it, slowly, if you really want to.”

“I  _ do _ really want to,” you reply quickly, the prospect of ‘working up to it’ causing your brain to short circuit. “Indrid, I...” is there any way to put this mildly? Probably not, judging by the way that his antennae stick straight upward and he trills, the sound rumbling through his chest and curling low in your abdomen. “I want to make you come, can I?”

The effect of your words is immediate, as a full-body shudder works its way through him, his wings shaking violently and his cock twitching in your hand. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he whines, “ _ yes _ , god,  _ please! _ ”

You’re happy to oblige, giving another tentative pump from base to tip and back again as Indrid lets out a shaky gasp. And again, and again, a little faster. His leg twitches, his breath catches in his throat. Every little reaction emboldens you, the knowledge that you’re making him feel good overriding any fear you have at messing this up.

“Is this good?” You ask, repeating the motion over and over as his wings flutter and his antennae shiver.

“So good,” he groans, “so,  _ so _ good, I— _ fuck _ ! A little— _ ah _ —faster, please,  _ please! _ ”

You hum with a grin, picking up the pace, and Indrid cries out your name, already sounding so desperate, it makes  _ you _ shudder. 

“ _ Wow _ ,” you sigh, “Indrid I—I’ve thought about—fantasized about—this for so long... I love you. I love you and I want to see you fall apart for me—”

“I— _ ah! _ —I love you too, I love you so  _ much _ , oh god—“

You squeeze a tiny bit tighter as you stroke him quick and hard, bringing him to the edge because you finally,  _ finally _ can.

“ _ Yes _ —oh, god, yes!” He cries, claws digging into your skin as his eyes fall shut in ecstasy. “You’re amazing, oh  _ fuck _ —so amazing!”

The praise makes warmth flare in your core, and you repeat back: “ _ you’re _ amazing, Indrid. I could listen to you like this forever, fuck, you’re so hot—“

Evidently, he likes praise too, because he  _ keens _ , his second pair of hands fisting into the couch cushions as he pants, sounds becoming less coherent as you stroke him, again and again. 

Something tells you he isn’t going to last very long at all—and that’s perfectly okay with you. There’s so much pent-up tension between you, you’re sure you won’t last five minutes with  _ him _ touching  _ you _ . “I can’t wait to be able to fuck you,” you tell him. “You’re gonna feel so good inside me, so fucking good—I want to make you come, baby, are you close yet?”

He nods frantically, his whole body wound tight like a coiled spring. “I’m close, I’m so  _ close _ , please,  _ please— _ “ He’s shivering, writhing, and you know how much, how long he’s wanted this, because you feel the same. He’s dreamt of your body the same way you’ve dreamt of his, he’s begged for you, all alone in his room, the same way you’ve begged for him. Fuck, you’re so in love with him, and you finally have him: he loves you, wants to kiss you, touch you, come for you! 

On the next pass, you bring your thumb to circle the head of his cock, and that’s all it takes for him to fall apart, crying out your name as he comes across your knuckles, his abdomen. He sighs softly as you release him, and you say it again: “I love you, Indrid.”

You grin as he slumps back against the couch with a resonant purr, twitching all over in the aftershocks. You follow him, pressing kisses to his face, his mandibles, the base of his antennae, and his breathing begins to even out again. He pulls you closer against his fuzzy chest, nipping at you gently. “Love you too,” he finally responds.

“Did I do alright?” You ask, cheekily, and he laughs.

“That was  _ incredible _ ,” he sighs back. “Thank you.”

You blush as his antennae stick up again, picking up your scent on the air. “Speaking of incredible...”

He suddenly turns, flipping you over so that you’re laying on the couch with him looming above you. He spreads his mandibles in a pseudo-smirk. “I believe it’s  _ my _ turn for an anatomy lesson, if I may?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bernie sanders voice* I am once again uploading from mobile. Having the worst travel day trying to get home but! At least no one was sitting next to me on my first flight!  
Hope you enjoyed this one!!  
As always, you can find me on tumblr, or join our discord, Indridfuckers Inc. <3

**Author's Note:**

> HA HAAAA im tipsy enough to post this and not be embarrassed about it. been writing this for weeks. smut is hard.  
if u leave a comment im legally obligated to marry you  
I really hope you enjoyed this incredibly self indulgent porn!! I have. plenty of ideas when it comes to uhhhh follow ups, but the question is, will i be brave enough to write and post them?  
hmu on [tumblr](https://hopeless-ar0mantic.tumblr.com/) if u wanna ;)


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